Lffie^VVTAernmaip 


n iv . 


53 

7 


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A Queer  Dilemma 

AND  OTHER  STORIES, 

♦ 

—BY— 

EFFIE  W.  MERRIMAN, 

* Editor  “The  Housekeeper.” 


Illustrated  by  H.  B.  WILEY. 


Copyrighted  by  Effie  W.  Merriman,  1898. 


MINNEAPOLIS. 

THE  FRANKLIN  TAYLOR  PUB.  CO., 


1898. 


The  Housekeeper  Corporation, 
Printers, 

Minneapolis,  Minn. 


PREFACE. 


I,  The  Author,  being  in  full  possession  of  all  my  fac- 
ulties, do  hereby  solemnly  declare  that  not  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  following  pages,  man,  woman  or  child 
is  intended  as  a study  of  myself"!  Neither  have  I attempt- 
ed a portrayal  of  any  relative,  enemy  or  friend.  I wish 
V-  to  state,  furthermore,  that  the  reader  is  not  expected  to 
Relieve  a word  of  any  story  in  this  book.  If  he  does  he 
must  assume  the  entire  responsibility.  These  stories  are 
> the  nonsensical  creations  of  a mind  which  cannot  be  al- 


serious  without  danger  of  dislocation ! I have  had 


4 lots  of  fun  writing  them,  and  I earnestly  hope  that  an 
> exceedingly  large  number  of  persons  may  have  as  much 
fun  reading  them. 


* 

* 

X 

x 


Q 


E.  W.  M. 


I 09285C 


CONTENTS. 


A Queer  Dilemma 1-57 

A Twentieth  Century  Romance 58-106 

The  Tax  on  Bachelors 107-147 

A Scientific  Courtship 148-166 

Mr.  Dillingham’s  Correspondent 167-188 


A QUEER  DILEMMA 


It  was  not  that  I had  grown  tired  of  my  wife.  I am 
certain  that  there  has  not  been  one  moment  since  the  day 
of  our  wedding  when  I have  wished  either  that  I had 
never  met  her,  or  that  we  might  honorably  sever  our 
tie  of  relationship.  There  has  not  been  a time  when  I 
would  willingly  have  caused  her  a moment’s  unhappiness. 
But  one  can  not  eat  constantly  of  his  favorite  dish,  or  in- 
hale the  fragrance  of  his  favorite  flower,  or  read  his 
favorite  book,  or  hear  his  favorite  opera,  without  long- 
ing for  a change.  And  he  does  not  like  the  favorite  less 
because  of  the  change.  It  was  not  that  I wished  to  see 
less  of  Angeline,  but  that  I might  see  more  of  one  who 
was  her  exact  opposite,  that  led  me  to  renew  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Helen,  an  old  school  friend,  who  had 
married  my  chum,  and  was  living  with  him  in  a state  of 
happiness  not  often  witnessed  in  these  days  of  matri- 
monial infelicities.  There  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that 
Helen  loved  her  husband;  but,  like  myself,  she  had 
grown  somewhat  weary  with  the  monotony  always  to  be 
experienced  in  a state  of  bliss  too  nearly  perfect  to  be 
disturbed  by  even  a disagreement. 

Helen  and  I became  companions  in  a surprisingly 
short  space  of  time,  and  Angeline  and  Helen’s  husband 


2 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


looked  on  and  smiled  approval.  Sometimes  they  good- 
naturedly  styled  us  cranks,  because  we  delighted  to  con- 
verse on  subjects  that  had  no  interest  for  them ; but  they 
were  really  a little  proud  of  what  they  chose  to  consider 
our  peculiarities.  It  was  their  perfect  confidence  in  us 
that  set  us  to  devising  some  scheme  whereby  we  might 
enjoy  each  other's  society  undisturbed  by  the  presence  of 
third  and  fourth  parties — their  confidence  in  us,  and  their 
too  fond  interest  in  the  outcome  of  our  discussions. 
They  liked  to  listen  to  us,  not  because  they  were  in  the 
least  interested  in  what  we  were  talking  about,  but  be- 
cause they  were  each  eager  to  have  their  own  particular 
property  say  something  that  would  be  found  quite  un- 
answerable. I have  known  Angeline  to  become  quite 
irritable  because  Helen  had  advanced  some  theory  that 
had  never  occurred  to  me,  and  I had  admitted  it. 
Naturally,  we  each  tried  to  be  a little  brighter  than  the 
other,  for  the  sake  of  the  audience,  and  our  conversation 
became  tiresome  in  consequence,  and  lost  much  of  the 
charm  it  had  had  during  the  first  weeks  of  our  acquain- 
tance. 

I can  not  remember  which  of  us  was  first  to  discover 
the  fact  that  ours  was  a friendship  too  ideal  to  be  spoiled 
in  any  such  way.  It  may  have  occurred  to  us  both  at 
the  same  moment,  as  many  of  our  most  beautiful 
thoughts  did ; but,  with  the  discovery  came  the  knowl- 
edge that  something  must  be  done  about  it  immediately. 
The  next  thought  was  that,  whatever  was  done,  we  must 
manage  to  avoid  any  undesirable  attentions  from  Dame 
Gossip.  That  would  have  caused  suffering  not  only  to 
ourselves,  but  to  our  companions,  and  may  be  set  down 
as  proof  that,  at  no  time,  did  we  wish  to  wound  them. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


5 


Have  I said  that  Heleh  and  I were  considered  very  in- 
tellectual? Well,  it  will  bear  repeating.  The  bond  between 
us  was  entirely  different  from  that  which  bound  her  to 
her  husband,  or  me  to  Angeline.  I have  already  ex- 
plained that  our  companionship  carried  us  to  a realm  of 
thought  that  they  could  not  enter,  but  their  presence 
caused  us  one  other  little  annoyance  that  has  not  yet 
been  mentioned.  It  was  exceedingly  trying,  at  times, 
to  be  obliged  to  descend  from  the  delectable  heights  of 
our  fascinating  speculations,  simply  that  we  might  ad- 
dress some  commonplace  remark  to  our  companions  in 
wedlock,  in  order  to  prevent  them  from  fancying  them- 
selves neglected.  The  annoyance  grew  upon  us.  Every 
repetition  served  to  show  us  how  much  more  ad- 
vanced we  were,  mentally,  than  the  life  partners  we  had 
chosen.  A very  real  danger  was  before  us,  and  we  con- 
gratulated ourselves  that  we  were  enabled  to  see  it  in 
time  to  avert  it.  We  must  be  safe  from  interruption  dur- 
ing such  periods  as  it  seemed  good  and  proper  for  us  to 
be  together. 

We  had  gone  deep  into  some  branches  of  the  occult 
sciences.  We  had  had  some  practical  experience  in 
hypnotism  ; we  understood  telepathy  fairly  well,  and  were 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  latest  discoveries  in  the 
methods  of  astralization.  When  the  thought  occurred  to 
us,  that,  by  astralizing  ourselves,  we  might  enjoy  com- 
panionship uninterrupted  by  the  commonplace,  we  were 
raised  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight,  speaking  meta- 
phorically, of  course.  At  that  time  we  had  not  known 
that  there  was  a heaven  of  that  sort. 

Helen’s  husband  had  taken  Angeline  into  another 
room  to  see  a picture  which  he  had  just  purchased,  and 


4 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


we  were  alone  together.  We  did  not  put  our  new  thought 
into  words,  for  each  knew  that  it  had  been  read  by  the 
other.  The  limited  time  at  our  disposal  must  be  given 
to  a discussion  of  its  merits. 

“Astralized  bodies  may  go  where  they  will,”  I began, 
as  soon  as  the  door  closed  after  the  retreating  couple. 

“And  Dame  Gossip  can  not  follow/’  replied  Helen,  un- 
wonted animation  in  her  dark  eyes.  The  fear  of  what 
people  might  say  had  a restraining  influence  upon  Helen 
of  which  I never  quite  approved.  It  seemed  to  me  to 
make  her  a little  too  practical,  and  thus  to  dwarf  an  other- 
wise ideal  nature. 

“Think  of  seeing  all  the  places  of  which  we  have 
dreamed — just  we  two !”  I murmured. 

“And  at  so  little  expense !”  added  Helen. 

“We  can  stand  on  the  summits  of  the  highest  moun- 
tains and  drink  in  the  beauties  around  us,  knowing  that 
we  shall  not  be  brought  to  the  earth  by  a question  as  to 
the  height  of  the  mountain  in  feet  and  inches.  We  can 
bathe  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  no  one  will  dis- 
turb our  revery  by  asking  if  those  clouds  do  not  look  like 
rain.” 

“And  no  one  can  accuse  us  of  anything  improper.” 

“Of  course  not.  There  will  be  nothing  improper.” 
“Shall  we  mention  it  to  the  others?” 

“Better  not.  .They  would  not  understand.  It  might 
make  them  uneasy.  They  might  imagine  things  that 
have  no  foundation  in  truth.  Whatever  we  do,  we  do 
not  want  them  to  be  unhappy  for  a moment.” 

“Of  course  not,”  replied  Helen,  who  always  appreciat- 
ed my  lofty  motives  most  thoroughly. 

“Should  we  endeavor  to  secure  undisturbed  compan- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


5 


ionship  in  this  life,  both  your  husband  and  my  wife  might 
fancy  themselves  slighted/’ 

“They  would  without  doubt,”  said  Helen,  “for  it  would 
be  hard  for  them  to-  understand  how  it  is  possible  for  us 
to  love  them  better  than  anyone  else,  and  still  long  for 
the  companionship  of  another.  They  do  not  really  care 
to  be  with  anyone  but  us.” 

“And  yet  they  know  nothing  of  the  delights  of  true 
companionship.  Fancy  them  trying  to  tell  why  they 
liked  being  with  us ! Poor  things ! How  short  have 
been  their  voyages  into  the  realm  of  thought.” 

Helen  sighed,  but  made  no  reply.  I knew  I had 
voiced  her  thought. 

“Shall  we  agree  to  make  the  attempt?”  I asked. 

“You  mean  the  attempt  to  astralize  ourselves?”  re- 
turned Helen.  “I  cannot  see  what  harm  it  would  do.” 
“When  shall  we  make  it?” 

“It  must  be  at  night  when  everyone  is  asleep.” 

“It  is  said  that  first  sleep  is  usually  the  soundest.  It 
would  be  awkward  to  have  one  of  them  try  to  awaken 
us.  At  what  hour  does  you  husband  retire?” 

“At  eleven.  He  is,  as  a rule,  fast  asleep  by  twelve.” 
“So  is  Angeline.  Shall  we  make  it  to-night  at 
twelve?” 

Helen  agreed,  and  at  that  moment  we  were  joined  by 
Angeline  and  Col.  Saunders. 

It  is,  perhaps,  needless  to  say  that  the  remainder  of  that 
day  was  spent  in  a state  of  feverish  excitement.  I had 
never  astralized  miyself,  but  I knew  so  well  how  it  was 
done  that  I did  not  doubt  that  I should  be  able  to  do  so 
successfully,  and  how  great  should  be  my  reward  for 
making  the  attempt ! That  is,  if  Helen  were  also  sue- 


6 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


cessful.  I am  sure  I should  never  have  cared  to  make  the 
experiment,  even  to  demonstrate  a scientific  truth,  had 
it  not  been  for  my  desire  to  be  alone  with  Helen.  That 
thought  was  entrancing.  Yet  I did  not  love  her,  and  I 
did  love  Angeline.  It  will  be  hard  for  anyone,  not  hav- 
ing had  experience,  to  follow  me  in  my  reasoning  on  this 
subject,  and  I should  not  advise  anyone  to  attempt  to  gain 
experience  in  this  line,  for  there  is  as  much  danger  of  its 
leading  him  to  the  divorce  court  as  there  is  that  wine- 
tasting will  lead  to  the  drunkard’s  grave.  One  can  never 
be  sure  beforehand  how  much  of  such  experience  he  can 
bear  unharmed. 

That  night,  when  there  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
Angeline  slept,  I turned  myself  on  my  right  side,  straight- 
ened my  limbs,  threw  back  my  head  until  there  was  not 
a curve  in  my  spinal  column,  closed  my  eyes,  and — but 
there ! I must  not  tell  what  I did  next,  or  all  the  world 
will  be  astralizing  itself,  and  that  would  be  a pity.  I 
speak  the  word  advisedly,  for  I am  quite  sure,  now,  that 
astralization  is  not  a safe  hobby  to  ride ; that  it  will,  event- 
ually, bring  to  the  rider  more,  a very  great  deal  more,  of 
unhappiness  than  pleasure. 

I was  successful  in  this,  my  first  attempt,  as  I had  felt 
confident  that  I should  be.  No  one,  who  has  not  experi- 
enced it,  can  tell  what  a delicious  sense  of  freedom  comes 
with  the  laying  aside  of  the  body.  All  know  how  relieved 
one  feels  after  divesting  himself  of  cumbersome  clothing, 
and  they  who  can  fancy  that  feeling  intensified  a million 
times  may  have  some  idea  of  the  rapture  that  filled  my 
soul  as  I stood  beside  my  bed  and  looked  down  at  my 
body,  to  all  appearances  wrapped  in  the  deep  sleep  of 
perfect  health. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA., 


7 


My  joy  was  made  perfect  when  I learned  that  Helen’s 
efforts  had  also  been  crowned  with  success.  We  met  at 
her  door  and  resolved  to  start  at  once  for  Italy,  where 
the  climate  is  more  conducive  to  enjoyment  in  out-of- 
door  life  in  the  middle  of  December  than  it  is  here  in 
Wisconsin. 

But  a few  moments  elapsed  between  the  resolution 
and  its  realization.  The  trip  was  delightful,  our  only  re- 
gret being  that  the  speed  with  which  we  darted  through 
the  air  prevented  our  seeing  any  of  the  beauties  over  and 
through  which  we  must  have  passed.  We  were  utterly 
unconscious  of  everything  save  the  presence  of  each  other 
and  of  the  heavy  grey  mist  which  enveloped  us  like  a 
cloud,  until  we  found  ourselves  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
shore  of  a beautiful  lake  in  Italy.  The  exquisite  joy  of 
that  moment  can  never  be  expressed.  We  were  free  with 
a freedom  that  a soul  bound  to  an  unresponsive  body  can 
never  comprehend.  We  were  filled  with  an  elation  that 
cannot  be  expressed  by  any  of  the  clumsy  devices  by 
which  humanity  attempts  to  make  its  thought  under- 
stood. We  were  enabled  to  appreciate  the  beauties  of 
nature  as  we  had  never  done  when  we  saw  them  through 
the  eyes  of  the  body ; for  now  even  in  the  humblest  weed 
we  saw  beauties  that  we  had  never  before  dreamed  of  its 
possessing.  No  words  passed  between  us.  We  had  no 
need  of  words,  for  each  read  the  thought  of  the  other, 
and  thus,  in  the  most  blissful  silence  imaginable,  our 
souls  communed  together  undisturbed  by  the  cares  of  our 
everyday  existence. 

How  long  we  sat  there  neither  knew.  We  might  never 
have  cared,  had  we  not  suddenly  been  brought  to  a con- 
sideration of  the  present  by  seeing  an  Italian  peasant  ca- 


8 


The  Flight  to  Italy. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


9 


ressing  his  smiling  wife.  Instantly  we  both  realized  that 
we  had  ties  which  bound  us  to  earth.  I submit  this  state- 
ment in  proof  that  our  affection  for  the  partners  of  our 
life  was  every  bit  as  consistent  as  any  reasonable  person 
could  ask.  Imagine  what  we  were  leaving  simply  to  be 
with  them — freedom  from  everything  but  the  purest  men- 
tal happiness — and  the  proof  will  be  sufficient. 

We  immediately  started  on  our  return  trip.  I left 
Helen  at  her  door,  a half  hour  later.  I waited  until  she 
had  disappeared  through  it  (she  had  no  need  to  go  to 
the  trouble  of  opening  it)  and  then  betook  myself  to  my 
own  room.  My  body  was  just  as  I had  left  it,  except 
that  it  had  grown  quite  cold,  and  Angeline,  half  awake, 
was  peevishly  asking  why  I had  not  warmed  my  feet 
before  coming  to  bed.  I smiled,  thinking  how  surprised 
she  would  be,  should  she  awaken  enough  to  realize  that 
it  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

It  was  with  considerable  effort,  and  not  without  pain, 
that  I finally  took  possession  of  my  body  again,  and  be- 
fore I closed  my  eyes  in  sleep,  I resolved  that  I should 
not  again  remain  away  so  long  a time,  unless  I could 
manage  in  some  way  to  keep  my  body  warm  during  my 
absence. 

Our  experiment  had  been  so  entirely  delightful,  that  it 
is  not  surprising  that  Helen  and  I resolved  to  repeat  it 
at  an  early  date.  We  were  rejoiced  beyond  measure  on 
the  next  day,  to  find  that  we  could  recall  all  our  ex- 
periences, and  we  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  our- 
selves from  referring  to  them,  when  conversing  together 
in  the  presence  of  Angeline  and  Col.  Saunders.  But  even 
that  difficulty  served  to  add  spice  to  an  existence  that  we 
had  found  monotonous,  and  to  draw  us  closer  in  the 


10 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


bonds  of  a friendship  that,  in  the  opinion  of  ourselves, 
was  more  platonic  than  anything  ever  conceived  by  Plato. 

I had  never  been  more  indulgent  to  Angeline  than  I 
was  that  day.  I even  applauded  some  of  her  little  speech- 
es as  if  they  had  contained  quite  as  much  beauty  and 
wisdom  as  my  own.  I told  myself  that  I loved  her  better 
than  I ever  had  before,  and  gave  as  a reason  that  my  short 
visit  in  a world  where  she  was  not  had  relieved  me  of 
the  slight  nervousness  caused  by  her  continual  presence, 
and  enabled  me  to  appreciate  her  worth  at  its  true  value. 
What  better  proof  could  I need  that  I was  really  doing 
a kindly  act  towards  Angeline  when  I allowed  my  astral 
to  visit  other  lands  with  Helen? 

In  less  than  a week  Helen  and  I started  on  our  second 
trip  through  the  atmosphere.  A stiff  gale  was  blowing, 
that  we  found  far  from  comfortable,  and  we  decided  to 
rise  above  it,  and,  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  look  for  a place  where  our  souls  could  com- 
mune together  in  a state  of  bliss  unbroken  by  annoying 
conditions  of  any  sort. 

As  we  had  no'  means  of  measuring  time  or  distance,  I 
cannot  say  how  long  we  had  traveled  when  we  became 
aware  of  voices  in  our  immediate  vicinity. 

“We  are  not  alone,”  said  Helen,  floating  closer  to  me. 

“Can  Angeline  and  Col.  Saunders  be  following  us?”  I 
asked,  a sudden  fear  assailing  me. 

“Impossible!  They  would  never  be  able  to  astralize 
themselves.  They  are  entirely  too  material.” 

“Oh,  to  be  sure!”  I replied,  in  a tone  of  the  deepest 
assurance.  But  I was  not  quite  at  rest  in  the  matter. 
Experience  had  taught  me  that,  on  several  occasions, 
Angeline  had  proven  herself  to  be  possessed  of  charac- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


11 


teristics  that  I had  never  suspected,  and  there  was  no 
telling  what  she  might  do,  should  her  suspicions  become 
aroused.  She  might  even  become  an  astral.  She  might 
teach  Col.  Saunders  how  to  become  one.  A woman  can 
teach  almost  anything  to  a man  who  loves  her,  and  I 
suddenly  remembered  that  Angeline  and  Col.  Saunders 
had  been  left  alone  together  many  times  when  Helen  and 
I were  deeply  interested  in  some  book  that  they  did  not 
care  to  read,  and  that  Angeline  was  considered  fascinat- 
ing. I became  electric  with  rage  at  the  thought.  I did 
not  want  Angeline  to  be  flying  over  creation  with  Col. 
Saunders,  or  any  other  man.  She  could  not  entertain 
a platonic  affection  for  anyone,  and  even  if  she  could,  I 
did  not  want  her  to!  Was  I jealous?  Oh,  no!  I simply 
knew  men  better  than  she  could  possibly  know  them. 
I knew,  very  well,  that  there  was  not  a man  in  the  uni- 
verse, except  myself,  capable  of  entertaining  a simple 
platonic  affection. 

What  Helen  was  thinking  all  this  time  I do  not  know. 
I might  have  known,  had  I not  been  so  absorbed  in  my 
own  thoughts,  and  I am  sure  that  she,  too,  was  too  deeply 
buried  in  contemplation  to  care  what  I was  thinking. 
Before  we  were  ready  to  resume  our  conversation  we 
found  ourselves  in  a large  company  of  astrals,  most  of 
whom  were  too  deeply  engaged  in  their  own  affairs  to 
know  or  care  that  two  newcomers  had  joined  them.  A 
glance  was  sufficient  to  tell  that  they  were  from  every 
country  in  the  world.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I could  hear 
their  voices,  and  could  even  recognize  the  tones  of  some 
of  them,  but  of  this  I can  not  be  sure.  My  books  on  the 
subject  of  astralization  had  led  me  to  believe  that  an  astral 
had  no  need  of  voice,  since  he  always  converses  with 


12 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


companions  by  means  of  telepathy.  If  that  is  a fact,  I 
can  add  one  item  to  the  sum  of  human  knowledge  on 
that  subject,  and  that  is,  that  the  effect  of  the  tones  of 
the  voice  are  also  conveyed  telepathically.  I am  con- 
fident that  I heard  the  voices  of  some  of  those  new  ac- 
quaintances. What  struck  me  as  still  more  remarkable, 
I could  understand  what  any  one  of  them  said,  although, 
at  the  same  time  I was  fully  aware  that  many  spoke  in 
a language  which  I had  never  learned.  I glanced  at 
Helen  and  saw  that  she  was  passing  through  the  same 
sort  of  experience,  and  that  she  was  no  less  astonished 
than  myself. 

“Where  are  we?”  I asked  of  a man  who  stood  near  me, 
surveying  the  crowd  with  the  far-reaching  look  of  a phi- 
losopher. He  was  evidently  a native  of  Thibet,  and  you 
may  imagine  my  surprise  when  he  replied  by  speaking 
one  word  which  I cannot  reproduce  here,  but  which  I 
at  once  knew  signified  a sort  of  clearing  house,  where 
they  who  are  divorced  or  unhappily  married  may  meet 
to  settle  or  arrange  their  matrimonial  difficulties.  What 
could  a native  of  Thibet  know  of  the  difficulties  which 
civilization  has  bound  upon  the  back  of  matrimony  so  se- 
curely that  one  cannot  accept  the  latter  without  taking 
the  former  also?  I had  read  that,  in  no  country  on  dearth 
was  the  marriage  relation  held  in  greater  contempt  than 
it  was  in  Thibet.  If  this  man  were  not  suited  with  his 
spouse,  why  did  he  not  get  another  and  be  forever  happy? 
I asked  the  Thibetan  why  he  was  in  such  a place  as  this. 

“My  friend,”  he  replied,  “I  have  learned  that  you  have 
a joy  which  we  do  not  know.  I am  here  to  try  to  com- 
prehend it,  that  I may  return  to  my  body,  and  teach  it 
to  my  fellows.” 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


13 


“Judging  by  the  countenances  of  those  whom  we  see 
around  us,”  I said,  “it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  come 
to  a poor  place  to  study  joy.  What  is  the  sensation  to 
which  you  refer?” 

“In  part,  that  which  you  now  experience,”  he  said, 
looking  me  full  in  the  eyes  with  an  expression  that  I did 
not  like.  He  appeared  to  know  me  better  than  I knew 
myself,  and  that  is  never  pleasant. 

“I  do  not  understand  you,”  I said,  coldly,  moving 
away  from  him. 

“My  friend,”  he  replied,  keeping  close  beside  me,  “why 
have  you  and  this  lady  astralized  yourselves?  Simply 
that  you  may  enjoy  each  other's  society  without  having 
disagreeable  remarks  made  about  you.  In  my  country 
there  would  be  no  talk,  and  none  of  the  consequent  pleas- 
ure found  in  outwitting  the  talkers.  You  enjoy  a mental 
exhilaration  in  running  away  with  another  man's  wife  that 
I can  never  experience,  unless  I can  first  succeed  in  con- 
vincing my  countrymen  that  such  things  are  wrong.” 

“You  misunderstand  us  entirely,”  began  Helen  coldly, 
when  she  was  interrupted  by  a gesture  of  despair  from 
our  strange  acquaintance. 

“I  know  I do!  I know  I do!”  he  exclaimed;  “but  I 
am  trying  to  understand.  If  I could  only  experience  the 
feeling  that  caused  that  remark — 'you  misunderstand  us 
entirely!'  They  all  say  it!  Everyone  here  has  been  mis- 
understood entirely!  Everyone  says  it  of  himself,  and 
no  one  believes  it  of  his  neighbor,  and  it  seems  such  a 
necessary  part  of  the  enjoyment!  Oh,  if  I could  only 
comprehend  it!  You  have  moral  laws  made  by  your- 
selves which  you  do  not  believe  in  to  the  extent  of  obey- 
ing, but  which  you  seem  to  wish  others  to  think  you  do 


14 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


obey.  If  I could  once  catch  and  comprehend  the  spirit 
that  prompts  obedience  and  disobedience  in  the  same 
breath,  my  problem  would  be  solved,  and  then  I could 
have  the  honor  of  giving  to  my  countrymen  a new  form 
of  gratification.  Then  we  in  Thibet  could  have  marriages 
and  divorces  and  elopements  and  scandals  and  murders, 
and  life  would  forever  cease  to  be  monotonous; ” 

“See  here,  sir,”  said  I,  thoroughly  nettled,  “I  want 
you  to  understand  that  we  are  not  of  these  people — ” 
“Sir,”  he  interrupted,  “everyone  here  has  told  me  pre- 
cisely the  same  thing  about  himself.  I have  listened  to 
explanation  after  explanation,  but  I can  see  no  very  great 
difference.  I have  reached  the  conclusion  that  self-delu- 
sion must  be  a part  of  the  enjoyment,  but  why?  And  is 
it  a real  delusion?  Can't  you  see  that  no  one  believes  of 
you  what  you  believe  of  yourself,  and  what  you  would 
not  believe  of  another  in  the  same  conditions?  If  it  is 
a real  delusion,  how  do  you  acquire  it?  If  it  is  not,  what 
pleasure  do  you  find  in  it?  I should  be  very  glad  of  a 
little  practical  help  out  of  this  difficulty.” 

Helen  and  I were  disgusted.  We  turned  abruptly,  and 
left  our  obtuse  acquaintance.  Time  was  too  precious  to 
be  wasted  on  an  individual  who>  would  not  accept  us  at 
our  own  valuation.  But  we  had,  for  some  reason,  lost 
all  inclination  for  each  other's  society,  and  made  our 
way  homeward  at  once,  arriving  two  hours  earlier  than 
we  had  done  on  our  previous  trip. 

How  rejoiced  I was  to  find  Angeline  sleeping  as  sweet- 
ly as  when  I had  left  her!  I touched  her  feet  and  hands 
and  brow.  They  were  warm  and  slightly  moist,  like  those 
of  a sleeping  baby.  I knew  she  had  not  astralized  herself, 
for  she  could  not  so  quickly  have  warmed  her  body. 


A y (JEER  DILEMMA. 


15 


Several  days  elapsed  before  Helen  and  I repeated  our 
experiment.  They  were  days  passed  in  the  simple  de- 
lights of  home  life.  We  did  not  see  each  other.  She  was 
content  with  Col.  Saunders  and  I with  Angeline.  But 
one  evening  we  chanced  to  meet  at  the  house  of  a friend, 
and  the  conversation  turned  upon  a new  club  that  had 
lately  been  formed  for  the  purpose  of  attempting  to  apply 
scientific  principles  to  occult  studies.  Helen  was  bril- 
liant that  evening,  and  I flatter  myself  that  my  conversa- 
tion was  not  found  uninteresting.  It  was  a pleasure  to 
us  both  to  know  what  a wealth  of  experience  we  might 
reveal  if  it  were  only  advisable  ! We  looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled,  and  without  a word  having  been  spoken  I 
knew  that  Helen  would  astralize  herself  that  night,  and 
that  I should  meet  her  as  before.  From  that  moment  we 
became  almost  reckless,  indulging  in  the  delights  of  as- 
tralization  sometimes  as  often  as  two  or  three  times  in 
one  week.  I wonder,  now,  that  our  companions  in  wed- 
lock remained  unsuspicious  as  long  as  they  did. 

It  was  through  my  own  stupidity  that  Angeline  first 
began  to  suspect  that  all  was  not  right  with  me.  I was 
so  eager  to  astralize  myself  that  I did  not  always  wait 
until  she  was  too  sleepy  to  talk.  I know,  now,  that  she 
asked  questions  that  I did  not  hear  and  that  she  became 
vexed  because  I did  not  reply,  and  that  her  vexation 
finally  led  to  suspicion.  If  I could  only  have  guessed 
the  state  of  her  mind,  before  I met  my  astral  foe ! 

It  happened  this  way:  Helen  and  I had  planned  to  be 
away  longer  than  usual  one  night,  thinking  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  attend  a meeting  at  the  astral  clearing  house, 
where  we  enjoyed  witnessing  the  struggles  of  the  poor 
souls  who  could  not,  like  ourselves,  be  content  with  pla- 


16 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


tonic  friendship.  We  had,  on  several  occasions,  remained 
away  until  my  body  became  so  cold  and  stiff  that  it  was 
extremely  unpleasant  climbing  into  it.  I dreaded  the 
pain,  and  on  this  night  induced  another  astral,  with  whom 
I had  become  acquainted,  to  take  possession  of  my  body, 
and  keep  it  warm  for  me  during  my  absence.  Helen  has 
since  accused  me  of  being  less  devoted  in  my  friendship 
than  herself,  and  with  justice ; for  she  never  tried  to  shirk 
the  pain  of  climbing  into  a cold  body.  I must  admit  that 
women  are  more  heroic  than  men  about  some  things. 

We  had  met  a number  of  astrals  on  our  journeys  to 
different  parts  of  the  world ; but  this  one  we  had  met 
most  frequently,  and  I had  remarked  the  wonderful  like- 
ness in  form  between  him  and  myself.  I was  quite  sure 
that  he  would  not  have  the  slightest  difficulty  in  taking 
possession  of  my  body,  and  I felt  no  hesitation  in  asking 
him  to  do  so  because  he  had  told  me  that  he  had  astral- 
ized  himself  so  often  that  his  body  had  become  quite 
accustomed  to  doing  without  him,  and  would  remain 
warm  for  many  hours.  Not  only  that,  but  it  would  warm 
up  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  got  into  it.  I felt  that  my 
only  source  of  annoyance  would  be  removed  when  my 
body  should  have  become  similarly  accommodating. 

Well,  he  agreed  to  my  proposition,  and  I showed  him 
into  my  body.  Helen  and  I went  to  the  astral  clearing 
house,  as  we  had  planned,  and  had  a most  entertaining 
time.  Our  Thibetan  friend  did  not  happen  to  be  present 
to  ask  us  disagreeable  questions,  and  everyone  else  was 
so  busy  with  personal  troubles  that  we  were  left  entirely 
alone,  to  our  great  delight.  We  really  did  not  care  to 
associate  with  people  who  had  come  here  only  to  plan 
ways  for  evading  the  laws  of  their  country,  or  to  find 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


17 


some  way  to  compel  their  friends  on  earth  to  regard  them 
with  the  same  measure  of  respect  that  had  been  granted 
them  before  it  was  known  that  they  had  not  been  keep- 
ing the  laws  in  as  good  faith  as  they  Had  seemed  to.  We 
left  that  meeting  with  the  best  sort  of  an  opinion  of  our- 
selves. Why  could  not  those  other  people  be  more  like 
us ! 

We  returned  at  the  very  hour  upon  which  we  had 
agreed.  My  body  was  delightfully  warm  and  sleeping 
soundly.  I aroused  it  by  stretching  myself  across  it  and 
causing  a cold  wave  of  air  to  pass  into  one  ear.  When 
my  astral  friend  peeped  out,  I intimated  to  him  that  I 
was  now  ready  to  relieve  him.  He  crept  part  way  out, 
leaned  his  astral  elbows  on  my  physical  head,  and  to  my 
intense  astonishment  and  supreme  indignation,  refused 
to  be  relieved.  Deliberately,  fiendishly  and  decidedly, 
refused  to  be  relieved ! 

“Go,  get  into  my  body,”  he  said;  “I  have  told  you 
where  to  find  it.” 

“But  I don't  want  your  body.” 

“So?  Well,  I do  want  yours..  It  is  built  with  a more 
prepossessing  face  than  mine.  It  will  do  you  good  to 
learn  from  experience  what  it  is  to  go  through  life  with  an 
ugly  countenance.” 

It  was  in  vain  that  I pleaded  with  him.  He  had  pos- 
session of  my  body,  and  I could  not  get  him  out.  He 
would  not  even  listen  to  my  entreaties,  but  darted  back 
in,  knowing  full  well  that  an  astral  has  no  means  of  com- 
munication with  ordinary  humanity.  Again  and  again  I 
sent  cold  air  into  his,  or  rather  my  own,  ears,  hoping 
once  more  to  provoke  him  into  showing  himself ; but  he 
deliberately  arose,  found  a box  of  cotton  that  I kept 


18 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


on  my  dressing-table  beside  my  box  of  corn-cure,  and 
stuffed  both  ears  so  full  that  not  a breath  of  air  could 
reach  him.  Then  he  returned  to  bed,  and  was  soon  in  a 
deep  sleep. 

I cursed  myself  for  my  stupidity  with  all  the  vehemence 
at  my  command.  Fool  that  I was  not  to  have  thought 
of  the  difficulties  that  I might  be  called  upon  to  encoun- 
ter, before  asking  a strange  astral  to  keep  my  body  warm ! 
Once,  when  a boy,  I had  asked  a stranger  to  hold  my 
watch  while  I threshed  another  boy.  When  I recovered 
from  the  threshing  that  followed,  the  stranger  with  the 
watch  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  It  taught  me  a lesson, 
just  as  this  experience  did.  I never  saw  the  watch  again. 
It  looked  very  much  as  if  I should  never  again  inhabit 
my  beautiful  body.  All  through  life  my  trouble  has  lain 
in  locking  the  barn  door  just  after  the  horse  was  stolen. 

I finally  realized  that  my  efforts  to  regain  possession 
of  my  own  body  were  worse  than  wasted,  and  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  take  possession  of  that  belonging  to 
my  enemy,  before  it  became  dead,  than  to  run  the  risk 
of  having  no  body  at  all.  I consoled  myself  with  the 
thought  that  the  passion  of  astralization  would  soon 
overcome  him,  and  that,  by  watching  my  opportunity,  I 
could  slip  into  my  own  body  during  his  absence.  He 
had  told  me  where  to  find  his  body,  and  I went  to  it 
without  further  delay. 

I found  it  without  difficulty.  I looked  at  it  with  a 
growing  repulsion  that  nearly  drove  me  to  insanity.  As 
I have  said,  it  was  about  the  size  of  my  own,  but,  oh ! 
such  a face!  It  made  me  ache  just  to  think  of  wearing 
it.  There  was  not  a hair  on  the  crown  of  the  dirty  head, 
and  only  seven  teeth  in  the  repulsive  mouth.  For  sev- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


19 


eral  minutes  I stood  there  beside  that  caricature  of  hu- 
manity, trying  to  summon  courage  to  step  inside.  I had 
almost  decided  that  eternal  astralization  would  be  pref- 
erable, when  thoughts  of  my  beloved  wife  caused  me  to 
change  my  mind.  I felt  sure  that  my  enemy  would  never 
give  up  my  body  if  I allowed  his  to  die,  and  of  course 
he  would  watch  the  papers  for  news  of  it.  When  I 
thought  of  him  occupying  my  home,  I was  so  filled  with 
wrath  that  I could  hardly  restrain  myself  from  going 
back  at  once  and  trying  to  do  him  some  harm.  I was 
only  prevented  from  taking  that  most  unwise  step  by  the 
thought  that  I might  make  my  own  body  so  unpresent- 
able that  I could  never  like  it  again,  or  worse  still,  I 
might  be  the  means  of  causing  my  enemy  to  reside  in 
it  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  just  to  spite  me.  An- 
other restraining  influence  lay  in  the  remembrance  that 
his  body  was  in  England,  while  mine  was  in  Wisconsin, 
and  that  I could  not  take  his  body  across  the  ocean,  be* 
cause  it  had  no  money  in  its  pockets,  and  I did  not 
know  where  to  find  any. 

I had  hardly  adjusted  myself  to  my  new  quarters,  when 
I was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  two  women  into  the 
dingy  little  room  where  I was  lying.  One  of  them  was 
weeping  bitterly.  She  was  a thin  woman  of  most  unpre- 
possessing appearance,  untidy,  unfed,  uncherished,  unde- 
cided, unloved,  unnecessary.  I could  see  it  all  at  the 
first  glance  through  my  stubby  eye-lashes.  She  came 
to  the  bed  and  stood  looking  at  me  while  her  companion 
placed  her  hand  over  my  heart — I mean,  over  the  other 
fellow’s  heart,  which  my  personality  had  set  in  motion. 

“Why,  no,  Liz !”  exclaimed  the  other  woman,  in  sur- 


20 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


prised  displeasure,  “Jack  ain’t  dead.  There  hain’t  no 
sech  good  luck  as  that  for  you  this  time.” 

The  woman  used  the  pronunciation  of  the  uncultured 
English ; but,  as  I have  not  heard  it  since  my  terrible 
experience,  and  had  never  heard  it  before,  I must  be 
excused  from  trying  to  reproduce  it  here.  The  above  at- 
tempt ought  to  convince  you,  as  it  does  me,  that  I can’t 
do  it.  I promise  you  that,  in  all  other  respects,  my  story 
shall  be  properly  realistic. 

The  woman  who  wept,  Liz  by  name,  was  evidently  the 
wife  of  my  enemy.  She  threw  herself  upon  me  with 
such  force  that  I gasped  for  breath,  and  then,  oh,  horror  ! 
she  began  covering  my  face  with  kisses.  For  the  first 
time  I rejoiced  that  I wore  the  face  of  another.  To  be 
kissed  by  that  woman — then  I remembered  the  appear- 
ance of  the  face  she  was  kissing,  and  remained  passive. 
If  she  wanted  to  do  it,  she  certainly  ought  to  have  the 
privilege ! It  surely  could  be  no  worse  for  one  than  for 
the  other. 

All  this  time  I had  kept  my  eyes  nearly  closed.  I knew 
they  thought  me  unconscious,  and  I was  thus  enabled  to 
gain  time  in  which  to  try  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and 
decide  on  a course  of  action. 

Soon  a doctor  came  into  the  room,  and  the  woman 
exclaimed  to  him  that  Jack  was  not  dead  after  all.  The 
one  who  was  not  Liz  added,  “More’s  the  pity,”  and  won 
a measure  of  my  respect  by  so  doing.  The  doctor  asked 
Liz  some  questions,  and  so  I ascertained  that  I had  often 
had  these  queer  spells  and  that  I sometimes  lay  for  hours 
at  a time  like  one  dead.  This  information  filled  me  with 
joy.  I now  felt  sure  that  my  enemy  was  a confirmed  as- 
tralization  toper,  and  I believed  that  it  would  not  be  long 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


21 


before  he  would  leave  my  body  for  another  trip  through 
the  atmosphere. 

“How  does  he  appear  when  he  becomes  conscious ?” 
asked  the  doctor. 

“Just  as  ugly  as  ever,”  replied  the  woman  who  was, 
evidently,  a sister  to  Liz.  “He’ll  look  like  a dead  man 
one  minute,”  she  continued,  “and  I’ll  begin  to  have  some 
hope  that  Liz  is  going  to  have  a chance  for  her  life ; but 
the  next  minute  he’ll  sit  up  and  begin  to  swear,  and,  like 
as  not,  he’ll  knock  her  over  the  head  with  a boot-jack.” 

Liz  wept  silently.  It  was  disgusting  enough  to  think 
of  her  kissing  such  a face  as  I wore ; but  to  have  her 
weep  for  me  when  I had  knocked  her  over  the  head  with 
a boot-jack  was  simply  unendurable.  I despised  her  from 
that  moment,  and  longed  to  tell  her  so.  Then  I thought 
of  Angeline.  Suppose  that  brute,  who  had  possession 
of  my  body,  should  awaken  and  knock  Angeline  over 
the  head  with  my  boot-jack ! Suppose  he  should  swear 
at  her ! She  had  never  heard  me  swear.  Indeed,  I had 
never  spoken  to  her  unkindly  but  once  in  my  life,  and 
that  was  when  she  had  used  my  razor  to  chip  dried  beef. 
Then  I told  her,  calmly  but  firmly,  that  if  she  ever  did 
such  a thing  again  I would  finish  dulling  the  razor  by 
hacking  her  poodle  into  inch  bits.  I was  sorry  for  it  after- 
ward, however,  and  bought  some  ribbon  which  I tied  in 
as  pretty  a bow  as  I could  make  on  the  handle  of  the 
razor;  then  I gave  it  to  Angeline  to  keep  purposely  to 
chip  dried  beef  with.  I bought  a fine  new  razor  for  my- 
self, which  I kept  under  lock  and  key. 

Now,  as  I lay  there  in  that  miserable  English  cabin, 
with  those  two  miserable  women  near  me,  I thought  of 
Angeline,  and  wished  I had  not  said  a word  about  the 


22 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


razor,  and  that  I had  left  the  new  one  where  she  could 
find  it  in  case  the  other  was  lost  or  dulled.  I did  not 
open  my  eyes.  Tears  from  the  eyes  of  the  affectionate 
Liz  made  my  borrowed  face  uncomfortably  damp,  but  it 
was  better  than  to  open  my  eyes  to  a situation  that  would 
very  likely  be  worse  than  anything  I had  yet  experienced. 
Oh,  how  I wished  I had  never  astralized  myself.  I even 
went  so  far  as  to  wish  that  I had  never  seen  Helen.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  her,  I meditated,  I should  never  have 
been  made  to  suffer  as  I was  suffering  now.  What  right 
had  she  to  lead  me  into  temptation  ! Angeline  and  I were 
as  happy  as  turtle  doves  until  she  came  between  us.  I 
had  never  loved  her,  and  never  gave  her  any  opportunity 
to  think  I did,  and  none  but  an  unwomanly  woman,  a 
very  unwomanly  woman,  would  accept  such  attentions 
as  I had  offered.  I was  sure  that  nothing  would  ever 
have  induced  Angeline  to  go  sailing  through  the  atmos- 
phere with  any  astral  but  mine ; but  Helen  was  absolutely 
devoid  of  delicacy.  It  was  so  easy  for  nice  men  like 
myself  to  be  taken  in  by  a designing  woman ! We  were 
not  expecting  such  things.  How  I did  wish  that  I had 
not  been  quite  so  innocent! 

I wished  a great  many  things,  as  I lay  there,  and  it  may 
be  that  the  tenor  of  my  thoughts  was  not  as  it  would 
have  been  had  my  mind  had  its  own  brain  to  work  with. 
I gradually  discovered  that  my  strongest  wish  was  that 
Liz  would  use  a pocket  handkerchief  when  she  wept,  or 
else  stop  kissing  me. 

“Don’t  take  on  like  that,”  said  the  doctor  kindly.  “I 
think  he’ll  be  himself  again  in  a little  while.  He  has  only 
been  a little  drunker  than  usual.” 

“Indeed,  indeed,  sir,”  said  Liz,  with  pathetic  earnest- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


23 


ness,  “he  was  not  drunk  this  time.  He  never  has  these 
spells  when  he  has  plenty  of  money  to  spend  in  whiskey. 
I’ve  seen  him  drunk  many  and  many  a time,  and  I know 
these  spells  are  different.” 

The  doctor  smiled,  and  said  something  to  the  sister 
which  I did  not  catch.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  very 
sure  that  Jack  was  drunk,  and  I presume  he  would  have 
been  just  as  sure  had  I opened  my  eyes  and  given  him 
a truthful  account  of  what  had  happened.  When  you 
want  to  study  a class  of  humanity  more  non-progressive, 
according  to  its  opportunities,  than  any  other  class  ex- 
cept preachers,  find  a specimen  of  the  ordinary  doctor. 
It  won’t  take  a very  large  microscope  to  cover  him,  and 
you’ll  find  him  amusing. 

“Liz  puts  me  out  of  all  patience,”  said  the  sister.  “I 
can’t  imagine  how  she  can  be  fool  enough  to  care  for  a 
man  who  treats  her  as  Jack  has  done.  I’d  have  killed 
him  long  ago  and  fed  him  to  the  hogs !” 

How  I did  wish  that  she,  instead  of  Liz,  had  been  his 
wife.  In  all  probability  she  would  never  have  allowed  him 
to  live  long  enough  to  learn  how  to  become  an  astral, 
for  she  certainly  looked  capable  of  carrying  out  any  threat 
she  might  chance  to  make. 

“I  really  believe  you  would,”  replied  the  doctor,  with 
a little  laugh  of  amusement.  “Well,  there  does  not  seem 
to  be  much  that  can  be  done  to  arouse  him,  so  I may  as 
well  go  home.  I think  he  will  behave  himself  before 
long.  If  he  becomes  worse,  however,  send  for  me.” 

Send  for  him,  indeed!  What  could  he  do? 

When  the  doctor  had  left,  the  sister,  whose  name  was 
Jane,  persuaded  Liz  to  go  out  and  have  a cup  of  tea,  and 
I was  alone.  I arose,  immediately,  and  began  to  dress, 


24 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


I had  no  idea  as  to  where  those  women  had  gone  for  their 
tea,  or  how  long  they  would  be  gone ; but  of  one  thing  I 
was  very  sure:  I must  get  away  from  them  just  as  quick 
as  the  Lord  would  let  me.  I felt  that  I would  be  a failure 
should  I try  to  personate  Jack,  except  in  personal  ap- 
pearance, and  there  was  no  telling  what  might  result 
should  it  be  discovered  that  my  nature  was  not  what  it 
had  been.  It  might  work  Liz  up  to  a height  of  affection 
that  would  induce  me  to  kill  her ! I could  not  beat  her 
over  the  head  with  a boot-jack,  as  I knew  I should  be  ex- 
pected to  do,  or  swear  at  her,  or  drag  her  around  the 
room  by  her  little  wisp  of  uncombed  hair,  or  do  any  of  the 
other  things  which  Jane  had  enumerated  as  being  among 
my  favorite  methods  of  diversion.  Had  I known  just 
how  Liz  would  have  regarded  my  conversion  to  a better 
life,  I might  not  have  felt  so  uneasy.  But  if  I should  be 
the  means  of  leading  her  to  renewed  efforts  in  the  art  of 
weeping — should  she  fall  on  my  neck  and  weep,  or  hold 
my  head  on  her  bosom  while  she  wept  into  my  face,  or 
let  her  tears  drop  steadily  on  my  bald  crown,  or  attempt 
any  of  the  styles  described  in  books  that  discuss  such 
topics — Oh,  heavens ! the  very  thought  lent  speed  to  my 
movements.  I had  had  more  than  enough  of  the  damp 
Elizabeth. 

I cautiously  made  my  exit  through  a back  window, 
and  went  out  from  the  smoky,  foggy  town,  after  having 
taken  the  precaution  to  inquire  what  was  the  number  of 
the  house  I had  just  left,  and  the  name  of  the  man  who 
occupied  it. 

I learned  that  I was  wearing  the  body  of  one  Jack 
Walsh,  as  useless  a piece  of  humanity  as  ever  cumbered 
the  earth.  My  informant  also  told  me  that  I looked 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


25 


enough  like  him  to  be  his  twin  brother,  and  that  he 
should  have  taken  me  for  Jack,  himself,  if  I had  not  been 
so  much  more  civil  spoken.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
dare  me  to  bet  the  treats  that  I was  not  a relative.  I 
thought  of  the  poverty  of  my  pockets,  and  declined  with 
thanks,  and  he  went  to  tell  his  comrades  how  he  had  dis- 
covered a brother  of  the  worthless  Jack  Walsh. 

I went  out  into  the  country  and  threw  myself  under  a 
tree,  where  1 felt  quite  sure  I should  be  free  from  in- 
truders. I had  decided  to  astralize  myself  again  and  en- 
deavor to  discover  what  was  going  on  at  home.  I could 
think  of  no  better  way  in  which  to  spend  my  time  while 
waiting  for  my  own  body  to  be  vacated.  All  I would 
need  to  do  would  be  to  keep  my  borrowed  body  alive, 
and  finally  leave  it  where  I found  it,  that,  in  case  its 
rightful  owner  wished  to  claim  it,  he  would  have  no  ex- 
cuse for  troubling  me  further. 

When  my  astral  body  entered  my  pleasant  Wisconsin 
home,  the  clock  on  the  mantel  pointed  to  twenty  minutes 
to  twelve  o'clock  a.  m.  I went  directly  to  the  room  where 
my  wife  and  I slept.  It  was  darkened  and  Angeline  lay 
stretched  on  the  bed.  A nurse,  a doctor,  and  several 
weeping  relatives  stood  over  her.  I saw  Helen  enter  the 
room.  She,  too,  had  been  weeping.  I looked  for  my 
enemy,  but,  to  my  great  relief,  he  was  not  present. 

“How  is  she?"  asked  Helen,  bending  over  Angeline. 

“I  think  she  will  live,"  replied  the  doctor  gravely ; “but 
it  will  be  a long  time  before  she  fully  recovers.  It  was 
not  the  blow  that  prostrated  her,  so  much  as  the  thought 
that  her  husband  could  strike  her." 

Then  that  villain  had  used  my  boot-jack  on  Angeline! 
I was  wild  with  indignation,  but  what  could  I do?  Sim- 


26 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


ply  nothing.  I was  far  more  powerless  than  the  gentle 
breeze  that  fanned  the  pure  brow,  across  which  were  the 
ugly  blue  traces  of  the  boot-jack. 

“Mr.  Scranton  is  not  himself/'  said  Helen.  “I  have 
just  had  a talk  with  him,  and  I know  he  is  not  himself/’ 

“He  says  he  is  sorry  he  did  it,”  said  Angeline’s  sister 
Miriam,  “but  he  does  not  seem  to  feel  one  bit  as  I should 
imagine  a man  would  feel  who  had  nearly  killed  his  wife 
— that  is,  if  he  cares  for  her  at  all.  I have  sometimes  had 
my  doubts  about  that,  however.” 

Oh,  how  vindictive  these  sisters-in-law  can  be  on  oc- 
casion I 

“I,  too,  have  noticed  his  apparent  indifference,”  said 
the  nurse.  “It  strikes  me  that  he  does  not  care,  and  I 
have  seen  enough  of  human  nature  to  be  able  to  judge 
fairly  well.” 

Have  you  ever  noticed  that  when  a nurse  has  passed 
her  thirty-fifth  year  she  is  always  sure  that  she  has  seen 
enough  of  human  nature  to  be  able  to  judge  anything? 
Evidently  this  one  was  no  exception.  “I  should  not  be 
at  all  surprised,”  she  added,  with  cast-iron  assurance,  “if 
there  were  another  woman  in  the  case.” 

Helen  looked  daggers  at  the  woman,  but  she  was  not 
in  the  least  discomposed. 

“What  right  have  you  to  insinuate  that  anyone  could 
supplant  Angeline  in  her  husband’s  affections?”  demand- 
ed Miriam.  “He  may  not  have  loved  her  as  she  deserved, 
but  he  certainly  could  not  have  cared  for  anyone  else  after 
having  seen  her.” 

“When  you  have  seen  as  much  of  the  world  as  I have,” 
replied  the  nurse,  “you  will  learn  to  expect  anything,  and 
be  surprised  at  nothing.  If  you  are  wise  and  wish  to 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


27 


avenge  your  sister,  you  will  quietly  begin  searching  for 
particulars  concerning  Mr.  Scranton’s  most  intimate  lady 
friend.  Employ  a detective.” 

My  most  intimate  lady  friend ! I thought  of  Helen  at 
once,  and  wished  for  the  power  to  gag  that  evil-minded 
nurse  with  her  own  detestable  wig.  With  the  prophetic 
vision  of  an  astral  I could  see  dire  complications  before 
unthought  of.  Nothing  could  have  been  purer  than  the 
feeling  Helen  and  I had  entertained  for  each  other;  yet, 
with  a few  infernal  hints,  I knew  that  hag  could  blacken 
us  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  forever.  While  I might  be 
able  to  endure  such  unjust  and  undeserved  punishment, 
I did  not  want  the  peerless  Helen  to  suffer  also.  It  will 
be  observed  how  differently  I thought  of  her  as  an  astral 
than  when  using  the  brain  of  my  enemy. 

If  I could  only  have  made  my  presence  in  the  room 
felt  by  some  of  them ! I exerted  myself  until  it  seemed 
as  if  my  soul  was  about  to  leave  its  astral  covering;  but 
every  attempt  was  in  vain.  I bent  over  Angeline  and 
pressed  kisses  on  her  lips  and  cheeks  and  eye-lids,  and  on 
the  cruel  bruise  across  her  brow.  I felt  so  intensely,  that 
it  seemed  impossible  that  she  should  not  feel  my  influ- 
ence, and  I tried  to  make  her  know  that  it  was  not  I who 
was  in  possession  of  my  good-looking  exterior;  but,  so 
far  as  I could  discover,  I made  not  the  slightest  impres- 
sion upon  her.  She  finally  regained  consciousness,  only 
to  break  into  a violent  fit  of  weeping,  which,  in  spite  of 
the  efforts  of  the  doctor  and  attendants,  ended  in  another 
period  of  unconsciousness.  I knew  that  she  had  heard 
the  nurse’s  remark,  and  that  her  first  thought  had  been 
of  Helen,  as  the  particular  friend  under  discussion.  I 
felt  that  Helen  knew  it,  too,  and  that  her  heart  was 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


nearly  broken.  She  had  meant  no  harm.  She  had  really 
believed  that  ours  was  a friendship  that  could  have  no 
disastrous  consequences.  The  awakening  was  horrible. 
She  left  the  room  without  a word,  and  I followed  her.  I 
could  not  stay  longer  where  I must  be  a helpless  witness 
of  Angeline’s  sufferings. 

Helen  went  into  the  library,  where  my  enemy  was  sit- 
ting in  my  body. 

“My  dear  friend,”  she  said,  “tell  me  why  you  have  so 
changed.  Have  I anything  to  do  about  it?  It  would 
kill  me  to  think  that  I had  come  between  you  and  your 
wife.  I thought  you  understood  that  my  friendship  for 
you  was  purely  platonic.  Was  yours  for  me  not  the 
same?  Oh,  tell  me  that  it  was.  Tell  me  that  I have  not 
been  mistaken  in  you.  There  have  been  such  friendships 
—ours  was  platonic — ” 

“Platonic  fiddlesticks!”  replied  my  lips,  with  a rough 
oath  and  a rude  laugh.  “You  and  I know  better  than 
that,  my  dear.  Any  man  might  be  proud  to  love  a woman 
like  you.  What  should  he  care  for  friendship?” 

For  a moment  I thought  Helen  would  faint,  she  be- 
came so  deathly  pale.  She  felt  her  way  to  the  window, 
as  if  she  had  been  blind,  and  leaned  for  a moment  against 
the  casement.  I stood  beside  her  and  tried  to  whisper  in 
her  ear.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  who  had  so  long  made 
a study  of  the  science  which  had  brought  all  this  trouble 
upon  us  might  b*e  influenced  by  me  to  guess  the  true 
state  of  affairs ; but  whether  I made  any  impression  upon 
her  or  not,  I could  not  tell.  She  turned  once  again 
toward  my  form. 

“Mr.  Scranton,”  she  said  with  a meaning  look  toward 
the  box  of  cigars  and  the  bottle  of  brandy  on  my  study 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


29 


table,  “will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  long  it  has  been  since 
you  began  to  smoke  and  drink  ?” 

“Egad!”  exclaimed  my  lips,  with  a repetition  of  the 
brutal  laugh,  “I  should  think  it  had  been  some  time  since 
I left  off,  judging  by  the  difficulty  I had  in  finding  any- 
thing to  drink  or  smoke,  and  the  beastly  state  my  stom- 
ach is  in.” 

Although  Jack’s  borrowed  stomach  had  not  craved 
whiskey  or  tobacco,  the  degraded  mind  he  had  lent  the 
brain  was  accustomed  to  considering  it  the  highest  form 
of  enjoyment,  and  he  had  ordered  a fine  supply  immedi- 
ately upon  awakening.  The  poor  stomach  was  rebelling, 
and  Jack  was  not  so  happy  in  his  new  surroundings  as 
he  might  otherwise  have  been. 

Helen  left  the  room  without  another  word.  I could 
not  accompany  her,  for  I knew  that  I must  return  to  that 
detestable  body  which  I had  left  under  the  trees  in  that 
miserable  English  wood  and  warm  it  up  enough  to  keep 
it  alive.  I was  nearly  crazed  with  apprehension.  It  was 
clear  to  me  that  it  had  been  a long  time  since  my  enemy 
had  had  money  with  which  to  buy  brandy  and  tobacco  in 
sufficient  quantities  to  satisfy  him,  and  I dreaded  the 
effect  of  his  indulgence  on  my  poor  body,  almost  as  much 
as  I worried  over  the  damage  he  would  do  my  reputa- 
tion. And  would  he  ever  again  astralize  himself?  Might 
he  not  find  his  present  life  so  much  to  his  liking  that  the 
joys  of  astralization  would  be  weak  in  comparison?  I 
believe  that  no  one  deliberately  astralizes  himself  who 
does  not  hope  to  enjoy  some  pleasure  that  would  not  oth- 
erwise be  his,  and  which  seems  greater  than  anything  yet 
experienced.  What  could  astralization  give  to  such  a 
man  as  Jack  Walsh  that  he  would  find  preferable  to  the 


30 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


life  I had  led?  I had  never  so  fully  realized  the  extreme 
desirability  of  my  lot  in  life,  as  I did  now  that  I seemed 
to  be  shut  out  from  it  forever. 

Had  hope  entirely  deserted  me,  however,  I should  never 
have  returned  to  my  enemy’s  body.  I mean  I should 
never  have  gone  in  search  of  it ; for,  when  I arrived  at 
the  place  where  I had  left  it,  it  was  gone.  Not  a trace 
of  it  was  to  be  seen.  What  had  become  of  it?  My  astral 
grew  stiff  with  the  agony  of  terror.  It  was  horrible  to 
be  obliged  to  warm  such  a body  into  life,  but  it  was  more 
horrible  to  be  deprived  of  the  privilege  of  so  doing.  Had 
it  been  eaten  by  wild  beasts?  Was  there  in  England  any 
wild  beast  hungry  enough  to  touch  it?  Was  it  in  the 
hands  of  medical  students?  That  seemed  more  likeiy. 
Medical  students  are  certainly  less  fastidious  titan  any 
wild  beast  of  which  I had  ever  read.  Should  I begin  my 
search  in  the  morgue?  I knew  so  little  of  the  life  of 
such  men  as  Jack  Walsh  that  I could  not  at  once  decide 
upon  a proper  course  to  pursue,  and  I felt  that  I had 
little  time  to  lose,  for  that  pesky  body  could  not  live 
forever,  and  I had  already  been  away  from  it  for  many 
hours. 

I finally  decided  to  go  back  to  Liz  and  her  sister,  trust- 
ing to  gather  from  their  conversation  some  news  of  the 
whereabouts  of  Jack’s  body.  As  good  luck  would  have 
it,  it  was  being  carried  up  the  steps  in  a long  black  box 
just  as  I arrived. 

Jane  opened  the  door. 

“Well,”  she  said,  in  a tone  of  extreme  satisfaction,  “I 
fancy  he’s  dead  enough  this  time ! I hope  so,  at  any 
rate.” 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


31 


“Dead  as  a door  nail,”  replied  one  of  the  men  who  car- 
ried the  box. 

I almost  collapsed  from  discouragement.  I had  not 
thought  that  I could  feel  so  badly  at  the  mere  suggestion 
that  I might  nevermore  be  able  to  climb  into  that  un- 
pleasant body. 

“It  will  be  hard  on  his  wife,  won't  it?”  asked  another 
of  the  men. 

“I  presume  it  will,  just  at  first,”  replied  Jane;  “but 
she'll  get  over  it,  when  she  knows  he  is  dead  for  sure. 
It  is  the  luckiest  thing  that  ever  happened  to  her,  I can 
tell  you  that.” 

“Shall  we  leave  the  body  in  this  box?” 

“Is  it  the  cheapest  box  you  have?” 

“No.” 

“Take  it  out  and  bring  a cheaper  one.  He  doesn’t 
deserve  any  at  all.  If  it  were  not  for  Liz  I would  sell 
him  to  a medical  college,  and  try  to  get  back  a part  of 
the  money  he  owes  me.” 

The  men  took  the  body  from  the  box,  greatly  to  my 
relief,  laid  it  on  a board,  and  left  it. 

Liz  came  in  and  threw  herself  upon  it,  and  began  to 
weep  into  its  face  and  press  moist  kisses  upon  it  with 
her  ugly  lips.  I looked  on,  and  hesitated.  Could  I en- 
dure that?  It  was  bad  enough  just  to  see  it  done,  when 
the  face  had  no  feeling.  But  to  have  it  animated  by  my 
personality — faugh ! it  made  me  sick.  However,  it  was 
my  one  hope  of  ever  again  enjoying  Angeline's  compan- 
ionship on  earth.  That  thought  decided  me,  and,  without 
further  hesitation,  I climbed  into  the  body.  It  was  so 
stiff  and  unyielding  that  I feared  I should  never  be  able 
to  adjust  myself  to  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  long  hours 


A QUEER  DILEMMA, 


passed  before  I was  enabled  to  warm  any  portion  of  it 
into  life,  and  I looked  with  horror  upon  the  preparations 
that  were  being  made  for  its  burial.  I even  began  to  long 
for  the  presence  of  Liz,  when  she  was  away  from  me; 
for  I felt  that  she  would  be  most  likely  to  detect  signs 
of  returning  life.  As  for  Jane,  I was  equally  certain  that, 
should  she  detect  such  signs,  she  would  only  hasten  the 
funeral  ceremonies. 

It  may  seem  a paradox  when  I tell  you  that  it  was  a 
joyous  moment  for  me  when  Liz  pressed  her  lips  against 
Jack's  cheek  (I  will  not  call  it  mine  even  for  the  sake  of 
perspicuity),  felt  that  it  was  warm,  kissed  it  again,  and, 
with  a wild  shriek,  fainted  away  upon  Jack's  bosom.  I 
felt  that  I should  die  of  collapsed  anatomy  if  I did  not 
get  her  off,  for  I had  allowed  Jack's  body  to  go  so  long 
without  food  that  it  would  not  stand  everything.  I made 
a superhuman  effort,  gave  a convulsive  twitch,  and  sent 
Liz  flying  to  the  floor.  At  this  moment  Jane  entered  the 
room  and  Liz  revived. 

“Oh,"  exclaimed  Liz  joyfully,  “Jack  is  not  dead!  My 
poor,  dear  Jack  is  not  dead!  He  knocked  me  down, 
Jane ; as  sure  as  you  live,  he  has  knocked  me  down  once 
more !" 

“And  you  rejoice !"  exclaimed  Jane,  contemptuously. 

“Why,  why,  Jane,"  faltered  the  poor  thing,  “it  was 
awful  to  have  Jack  dead !" 

I sat  up,  ready  to  defend  myself  in  case  the  belligerent 
Jane  attacked  me.  There  is  no  safety  for  a man  like  Jack 
in  the  presence  of  a sister-in-law  like  Jane,  except  that 
afforded  by  her  love  for  her  sister  or  the  strength  afforded 
by  a superior  physique. 

“You  miserable  reprobate!"  she  said  sternly. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


33 


To  be  entirely  truthful,  I must  say  that  her  words 
were  not  quite  as  classic  as  those  I have  used,  but  mine 
look  better  in  print.  Her  attitude  was  enough  to  make 
even  the  alphabet  sound  threatening  from  her  lips. 

“Why  couldn’t  you  have  died,  when  you  had  so  good 
a start?”  she  asked. 

“It  may  be,”  I replied,  with  a sarcasm  that  must  have 
been  ludicrous  under  the  circumstances,  “it  may  be  that 
it  is  because  you  showed  too  much  anxiety  on  the  sub- 
ject.” 

Jane  stared  in  astonishment. 

“Well,”  said  I,  as  roughly  as  I could,  “what  are  you 
staring  at?  Am  I more  beautiful  than  usual?” 

Jane  still  stared,  and  I began  to  fear  that  I had  not 
been  entirely  successful  in  my  attempt  to  personate  Jack. 
I longed  to  do  it  well,  for  something  told  me  that  Liz 
would  never  dare  kiss  Jack  unless  she  believed  him  to  be 
unconscious.  I must  not  hesitate,  but  essay  still  greater 
coarseness. 

“See  here,  my  beauty,”  I continued  bravely,  “I  want 
you  to  trot  to  the  kitchen,  without  loss  of  time,  and  get 
me  something  to  eat.  D’ye  hear  me!  Get  it  quick!” 

“Oh,  Jack,”  wailed  Liz,  “you  are  not  yourself,  after 
all ! Oh,  my  pretty  Jack,  are  you  going  to  die  and  leave 
me?” 

And  this  after  I had  tried  my  best  to  be  a brute ! Liz 
threw  herself  into  my  arms,  and  her  huge  tears  rolled 
down  my  neck.  It  made  me  mad,  and  I threw  her  from 
me  again,  with  such  force  that  she  staggered. 

“Stop  that  infernal  nonsense,”  I thundered,  “and  bring 
me  something  to  eat.” 


34 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


“I  have  no  money,”  wailed  Liz.  “You  know  you 
have  done  no  work  for  months.” 

“Where  do  you  get  food?” 

“Jane  gives  it  to  me.” 

“Then  Jane  must  bring  some  to  me.” 

“Never!”  exclaimed  Jane,  with  fierce  determination. 
“I  would  rather  see  you  starve.” 

“You  shall  be  paid  for  it,  you  fool!  Do  you  think  I 
want  to  beg — Keep  off!  Keep  off,  both  of  you,  or  IT1 
kill  you  deader  than  smelts.” 

Evidently  Jack  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  suggesting 
that  he  might  pay  for  food,  and  so,  notwithstanding  my 
resolution  not  to  do  so,  I had  represented  him  as  a con- 
vert to  a better  life.  Both  women  showed  unmistakable 
signs  of  an  intention  to  rush  into  my  arms  and  weep  on 
my  neck,  and  I only  saved  myself  by  springing  to  my 
feet  and  assuming  the  attitude  of  a prize  fighter. 

To  my  intense  joy  the  food  was  brought  without  fur- 
ther parley.  It  consisted  of  a bowl  of  oatmeal  porridge 
and  a slice  of  black  bread  without  butter.  It  did  not 
look  at  all  tempting,  but  I recollected  that  Jack's  body 
was  in  need  of  nourishment,  and  was,  in  all  probability, 
used  to  nothing  better. 

“Will  you  tell  me,”  I said,  swallowing  the  broth  as  1 
would  swallow  medicine,  “what  sort  of  work  a man  like 
me  can  get  to  do?” 

Liz  made  a rush  for  me  when  I asked  the  question, 
and  I backed  against  the  wall  and  held  the  bread  as  if  I 
would  hurl  it  at  her. 

“Keep  off,  Liz!”  I shouted.  “If  your  dripping  face 
comes  within  five  feet  of  mine,  I'll  mash  it  flat.” 

It  was  harsh  language  to  use  to  a woman,  and  one  of 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


35 


the  most  steadfast  of  her  sex  at  that,  but  I was  des- 
perate. 

“Let  him  alone,  Liz,”  said  Jane.  “If  he  is  thinking  of 
going  to  work,  for  pity’s  sake  don’t  distract  his  mind.” 
Then  Jane  turned  to  me. 

“I  know  of  several  warehouses  that  need  sweeping,” 
she  said.  “I’ll  get  the  work,  you  may  do  it,  and  I’ll  take 
in  the  cash.” 

“Indeed!  Why  can’t  I handle  my  own  cash?” 

“Yours!  You  have  a number  of  debts  to  pay  before 
anything  could  be  yours  by  right.  If  you  get  one  penny 
of  it  you’ll  never  pay  me  a cent  for  what  I have  done  for 
you  and  Liz.  I’ll  let  you  know  that  I was  not  put  into 
this  world  just  to  keep  you  from  starving.” 

I finally  consented  to  Jane’s  arrangement,  greatly  to 
her  surprise,  and  spent  that  day  in  sweeping  warehouses. 
I felt  that  I could  not  be  under  obligations  to  a woman 
for  food,  even  though  it  was  not  my  own  body  that  I was 
trying  to  keep  alive,  and  I had  no  idea  where  a man  like 
Jack  would  find  work.  I could  do  no  better,  until  I be- 
came used  to  my  strange  surroundings,  than  to  let  Jane 
run  me.  She  softened  perceptibly,  when  she  saw  how 
faithfully  I applied  myself,  and  fed  me  well.  That  was 
what  I wanted.  I had  decided  to  get  Jack’s  body  in 
good  working  order,  and,  if  I could  not  obtain  possession 
of  my  own  body,  I meant  to  work  my  passage  to  my  old 
home,  and  choke  the  last  spark  of  life  out  of  it, 
and  then  cut  Jack’s  throat.  By  so  doing,  I should 
relieve  Angeline  of  the  presence  of  my  enemy,  and  do  no 
harm  to  Liz.  I realized  that  such  a deed  would  hasten 
my  departure  iiltO  the  next  world,  but  I believed  that  I 


36 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


could  not  be  forever  punished  for  an  honest  attempt  to 
right  a wrong. 

That  night,  after  eating  a hearty  supper,  I slipped  out 
of  the  house,  unobserved,  and  again  started  for  the 
country.  I could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  share  a room 
with  Liz,  even  though  I intended  to  leave  Jack’s  body 
as  soon  as  possible.  I hid  myself  under  an  overhanging 
rock  beside  the  sea,  and  freed  my  astral  body  from  its 
detested  covering  as  speedily  as  possible. 

I went  straight  to  my  own  dear  home.  It  was  closed 
and  dark.  I searched  every  room.  All  were  empty 
save  one,  which  was  occupied  by  the  housekeeper.  I 
went  to  the  barn.  The  horses  were  there,  and  the  coach- 
man slept  soundly  in  his  snug  room  overhead.  I went 
back  to  the  house  and  tried  to  find  some  scrap  of  paper 
that  should  tell  me  what  had'  happened,  but  in  vain. 
I next  went  to  the  house  occupied  by  Angeline’s  father. 
There,  in  the  room  in  which  she  had  slept  when  a girl,  I 
saw  my  wife.  The  lamp  burned  dimly,  and*a  nurse  sat 
beside  the  bed.  I breathed  a prayer  of  thankfulness  that 
Angeline  had  been  removed  from  the  presence  of  my 
enemy,  even  though  I realized  that  I might  find  it  difficult 
to  win  her  back  again.  It  was  evident  that,  woman-like, 
she  had  resented  the  treatment  of  her  supposed  husband, 
and  gone  home  to  mother. 

But  what  had  become  of  my  body?  I went  to  Helen’s 
room.  She  lay  quietly  beside  her  husband,  who  had 
raised  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and  was  studying  her  face 
with  great  earnestness,  and  perplexity.  He  spoke  to  her, 
but  she  made  no  reply.  He  shook  her,  but  she  did  not 
awaken.  I saw,  at  once,  that  she  had  astralized  herself, 
and  that  Col.  Saunders  had  discovered  that  she  was  in 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


37 


an  abnormal  condition.  Although  exceedingly  anxious 
to  know  what  he  would  do  next,  I felt  that  I could  not 
remain  longer  where  I was. 

I did  not  doubt  that  Helen  had  made  an  appointment 
with  my  enemy.  Perhaps  she  was  with  him,  now.  In 
all  probability  the  passion  of  astralization  had  become 
so  strong  that  she  could  not  overcome  it,  even  though  she 
had  learned  to  hate  her  old  friend  and  companion.  If 
I could  only  know  how  long  she  had  been  astralized,  and 
in  which  direction  she  had  gone.  I did  not  like  to  think 
of  her  as  being  with  my  enemy,  still  I could  not  be  quite 
sorry,  for  of  course  she  would  at  once  understand  the  true 
condition  of  affairs,  and  she  might  help  me  out  of  my 
fearful  predicament.  What  next?  What  next?  Oh,  if 
I could  only  know  what  next  to  do ! Should  I try  to 
find  Helen,  or  would  it  be  better  for  me  to  remain  where 
I was,  and  await  her  return?  It  was  agony  to  believe 
that  my  body  was  somewhere,  untenanted,  and  I did  not 
know  where.  Oh,  if  I could  only  know  its  whereabouts ! 
How  soon  would  I try  to  straighten  out  this  tangled  web 
that  threatened  to  strangle  earthly  happiness  forever,  so 
far  as  I was  concerned ! 

I decided  to  leave  Col.  Saunders,  and  go  to  our  most 
dearly  loved  haunts,  hoping  to  find  Helen.  I had  gone 
but  a little  distance  from  her  house,  when  I came  face  to 
face  with  the  astral  of  my  enemy. 

“Where  have  you  left  my  body?”  I asked  fiercely. 

“I  will  tell  you  that  when  I am  ready  to  give  it  up,” 
was  his  insolent  reply. 

I have  since  thought  that  the  worst  part  of  being  with- 
out a body,  is  one’s  inability  to  stand  up  to  a good  square 
fight,  and  that  is  my  only  objection  to  being  an  angel. 


38 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


Should  I meet  Jack  Walsh  in  heaven,  I know  I should 
ache  to  thresh  him. 

“Bye-bye,  Sonny/’  he  said,  with  a leer.  “Kiss  Liz,  for 
me,  and  mind  you  keep  my  body  in  good  repair.” 

He  floated  off,  and  I decided  to  follow  him,  and  take 
my  chances  as  to  getting  into  my  body  first.  I have 
always  been  noted  for  quickness  of  motion,  and  I felt  sure 
that,  with  any  show  at  all,  I could  beat  Jack  in  a race 
through  the  atmosphere.  If  I failed,  I should  at  least 
have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  my  beloved  body,  and 
knowing  where  to  look  for  it  another  time.  But  Jack 
divined  my  thought,  and  immediately  turned  to  me. 

“Old  fellow,”  he  said,  “you’ll  be  sorry  if  you  attempt 
that.  I shall  not  go  near  your  body  as  long  as  you  fol- 
low me.  If  it  dies  I don’t  care.  You  have  probably  in- 
habited mine  long  enough  to  know  that  it  can  make  little 
difference  to  me  whether  I ever  see  it  again,  or  not.  I 
might  as  well  be  an  astral  for  the  rest  of  my  life  anyhow.” 

He  had  me  in  his  power,  and  knew  it.  I turned  awa\, 
without  another  word,  unwilling  to  do  aught  that  would 
imperil  my  precious  body.  Without  doubt  the  life  of 
an  astral  was  preferable  to  that  led  by  Jack  Walsh,  but 
it  was  not  more  desirable  than  that  to  which  I had  been 
accustomed. 

I searched  for  Helen  as  long  as  I dared  leave  Jack’s 
body,  but  in  vain.  I returned  to  the  spot  where  I had 
hidden  the  body.  This  time  it  had  not  been  molested, 
and  I crept  into  it,  warmed  it  up,  and  wearily  dragged  it 
to  the  poverty  stricken  home  of  Jack  Walsh.  The  sun 
was  just  rising,  when  I entered  the  room,  but  the  brisk 
Jane  was  already  about  her  work. 

“Good  morning,”  said  I. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


39 


“Humph !”  was  her  reply.  “Well,  you  certainly  have 
not  been  on  a spree  this  time,  for,  thanks  to  my  good 
sense,  you  had  no  money.  Do  you  mean  to  work  to- 
day ?” 

“Yes,”  I replied,  knowing  that  it  was  the  only  chance 
I had  to  keep  my  borrowed  body  alive.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  it  required  more  food  than  three  such  bodies 
ought  to  need. 

“Liz  is  in  the  next  room.  She  sat  up  all  night  waiting 
for  you,  and  has  only  just  dropped  asleep.” 

“Let  her  sleep.  I’ll  work,  and  you  may  give  her  all  1 
earn  except  just  what  is  needed  to  buy  food  enough  to 
keep  me  from  starving,  but  I’ll  be  blest  if  I ever  want  to 
see  her  again.” 

“Jack,  what  has  got  hold  of  you?” 

“That  is  none  of  your  business.  Come,  let’s  have 
breakfast,  and  be  off  as  soon  as  possible.” 

“There  were  men  here  to  see  you  last  night.  Did 
you  expect  them?” 

“No.” 

“One  was  short  and — ” 

“I  don’t  care  anything  about  them.  Are  you  ever 
going  to  get  ready?” 

“I  fancy  they  meant  you  no  good.  Have  you  been 
getting  yourself  into  trouble?” 

“Not  in  any  way  that  you  can  understand.” 

“Well,  here’s  your  breakfast.  I have  engaged  sweep- 
ing enough  to  keep  you  busy  all  day.” 

I ate  my  breakfast,  and  went  to  work.  I was  glad  to 
work.  Do  you  know,  I have  since  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  there  are  many  idle  people  who  would  be  glad 
to  make  themselves  useful,  if  they  were  not  afraid  of  soil- 


40 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


in g their  precious  bodies,  or  of  making  them  crooked, 
or  otherwise  unpresentable.  I had  always  hesitated 
about  doing  anything  that  would  harden  my  hands  or 
make  them  rough,  but  I did  not  care  a penny  for  Jack 
Walsh's  hands.  In  fact,  I gloried  in  the  knowledge 
that  they  were  getting  some  quite  unaccustomed  blisters 
on  them,  and  proving  themselves  of  greater  use  than 
anyone  had  ever  suspected  they  could  be.  I proved 
to  be  a source  of  greatest  surprise  to*  anyone  who  had 
ever  known  Jack  Walsh.  Jane  collected  my  earnings 
as  before.  At  noon  she  offered  me  a pint  of  ale,  but  I 
refused  it.  Then  she  went  to  a shop,  and  bought  a 
really  good  dinner  for  me.  She  said  she  was  almost 
ready  to  believe  that  Liz  had  known  me  best  after  all, 
and  in  many  ways  she  showed  that  her  opinion  of  me  was 
rising.  But  she  did  not  trust  me  with  one  penny  of  the 
money  I had  earned. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  a sheriff  and  posse 
called  upon  me. 

“Are  you  Jack  Walsh?”  asked  the  sheriff. 

“I  am  supposed  to  be.” 

“That  does  not  answer  my  question.  Are  you  Jack 
Walsh?  Yes  or  no.” 

“Yes.” 

I did  not  like  to  say  it,  but  what  else  could  I have 
said? 

“I  believe  you  lie.” 

I agreed  with  him,  but  did  not  say  so. 

“This  is* the  same  fellow  who  asked  me  where  Jack 
Walsh  lived,”  said  a man  in  the  crowd,  whom  I recogniz- 
ed as  the  one  who  had  dared  me  to  bet  the  treats  that 
I was  not  a relative  of  Jack  Walsh. 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


41 


“Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  what  have  you  been  doing  now?” 

Liz  pushed  her  way  through  the  crowd  that  had  rapid- 
ly collected  around  me,  and  attempted  to  throw  herself 
into  my  arms.  She  was  weeping,  and  her  lips  were 
puckered  ready  for  kissing. 

“Get  out  of  here!”  I shouted.  “If  you  touch  me  Fll 
kill  you !” 

“For  shame !”  said  the  sheriff. 

“Kiss  her  yourself,  if  you  think  it  is  any  fun,”  I re- 
torted. 

“That  is  not  Jack  Walsh,”  said  a voice  in  the  crowd. 
“He  was  mean  enough,  the  Lord  knows,  but  he  never 
refused  to  let  his  wife  kiss  him.” 

“How  long  has  he  been  like  this?”  asked  the  sheriff 
of  Jane. 

“Since  early  yesterday  morning.” 

“Not  once  allowed  Mrs.  Walsh  to  kiss  him?”  ^ 

“Not  if  he  could  help  it.” 

“My  man,”  he  said,  turning  to  me,  “I  guess  you  have 
not  lived  with  Mrs.  Walsh  long  enough  to  know  her 
many  good  qualities.  You  may  come  with  me.” 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  complacency  that  made  me 
long  to  knock  him  down ; but  something  told  me  that 
I might  as  well  go  quietly,  for  I certainly  could  not  be  in 
a much  worse  position  than  I was. 

I was  taken  before  a judge  and  examined,  and  it  was 
proven  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt  that  I was  not 
Jack  Walsh.  I could  not  answer  the  simplest  questions 
about  the  former  life  of  that  individual.  I did  not  know 
how  many  little  Walshes  I was  responsible  for,  how 
many  had  died,  how  many  were  boys,  nor  which  ones  be- 
longed to  my  first  wife.  Neither  could  I tell  whether  that 


42 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


wife  had  been  separated  from  me  by  death,  or  divorce. 
It  was  plain  that  I was  not  Jack  Walsh ; then  who  was  I? 
That  was  the  question  which  my  tormentors  tried  to 
answer.  I looked  like  him,  they  said,  but  that  proved 
nothing.  Jane  and  Liz  had  never  heard  him  mention  a 
brother;  but  Jane  said  that  she  should  not  be  in  the  least 
surprised  to  learn  that  I,  and  twenty  others  just  as  mean, 
were  related  to  Jack  Walsh.  Jack  was  quite  despicable 
enough  to  have  any  number  of  disreputable  relatives,  and 
nothing  could  be  worse  than  she  had  all  along  suspected. 

I was  arrested  for  murdering  two  women  in  White- 
chapel. I was  supposed  to  be  Jack  the  Ripper,  and  there 
was  every  reason  to  believe  that  I should  be  hung.  The 
problem  that  now  presented  itself  was  this:  Could 

Jack's  physical  body  be  hung  without  rendering  my 
astral  body  useless?  It  did  not  seem  possible.  I was 
loath  to  have  my  soul  separated  from  my  astral  body,  not 
only  because  of  a strong  personal  desire  to  spend  a few 
more  years  on  earth,  but  because  of  poor  Angeline.  My 
poor,  poor  Angeline ! She  had  thought  she  did  so  well 
in  marrying  me,  and  how  cruelly  Jack  Walsh  was  disap- 
pointing her ! Would  she  ever  again  learn  to  trust  me 
implicitly?  What  would  life  be  if  she  were  never  to  give 
me  her  confidence  again?  I could  not  deny  that  I had 
not  always  deserved  it.  I knew  she  would  never  have 
given  her  consent  to  my  going  anywhere  alone  with 
Helen,  even  in  astral  form,  yet  I had  gone.  I had  meant 
so  well  that  I had  not  seen  things  in  their  true  light. 
Besides,  how  was  I to  know  that  my  little  escapade  would 
end  so  disastrously?  All  I had  thought  about  it  was 
that  no  one  could  possibly  know  anything  about  it. 

Thoughts  of  Angeline  were  curiously  mixed  with  my 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


43 


anxious  plans  for  escape,  all  during  that  day.  What 
should  I do?  It  would  be  useless  to  astralize  myself,  just 
before  execution,  for  they  would  not  hang  an  inanimate 
body.  They  would  try  to  restore  me  to  consciousness, 
hang  me  if  successful,  and  bury  me  if  unsuccessful. 
News  travels  fast,  if  it  be  at  all  sensational,  and  I saw  that 
I could  not  hope,  now,  that  Jack  would  deliberately  re- 
turn to  England  to  take  possession  of  a body  that  was 
soon  to  be  hung,  when  he* could  just  as  well  occupy  a 
more  desirable  one  in  Wisconsin.  The  situation  was, 
indeed,  most  desperate. 

Gradually  the  crowd  of  curious  faces  began  to  grow 
less  dense,  and  finally  I was  left  alone  in  my  cell.  With- 
out loss  of  time,  I stretched  Jack’s  tired  body  on  the  iron 
pallet,  and  allowed  my  astral  to  escape  and  speed  its 
way  homeward.  I had  not  gone  half  the  distance,  when  I 
again  met  Jack. 

“Do  you  want  your  body,  now?”  he  asked,  abruptly. 

“May  I have  it?”  I replied,  breathing  a prayer  that  I 
might  be  prevented  from  saying  anything  that  would  be 
likely  to  arouse  his  opposition,  and  cause  him  to  change 
his  mind,  if  he  really  meant  to  return  my  body. 

“You  may  have  it.  I don’t  want  it  any  longer.  Con- 
found such  a family  as  yours,  anyhow!  You  have  not 
taught  your  women  to  treat  men  with  the  respect  due 
their  superiors,  and  there  is  no  living  with  them  in  any 
sort  of  comfort.  My  old  woman  is  better  trained.  Well, 
good-by.  I presume  I shall  find  my  body  at  the  same  old 
place,  shall 1 1 not?” 

I was  tempted  to  say  yes.  Then  I thought  how  it 
would  be  should  he  fail  to  find  it  until  too  late,  and  con- 
clude to  have  vengeance  by  becoming  my  evil  spirit. 


44 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


I had  no  doubt  that  he  could  easily  make  life  a burden 
to  me.  This  thought  brought  my  better  self  to  the  front, 
and  I speedily  became  too  honorable  to  allow  him  to  leave 
me  under  a wrong  impression.  Never  in  my  life  did  I 
fight  such  a battle  against  temptation.  I trust  that  that 
one  victory  has  been  considered  great  enough  to  wipe 
out  a large  number  of  my  sins  of  omission. 

“No,  Jack/’  I replied,  feebly,  “I  have  not  been  able  to 
leave  your  body  just  where  I fQund  it ; but  I hope  you  will 
believe  that  I did  my  best  to  care  for  it  properly.” 

“Where  is  it?” 

For  several  minutes  I could  not  speak.  So  many  con- 
flicting thoughts  were  struggling  for  mastery  in  my  mind, 
that  Jack  could  read  none  of  them.  I finally  summoned 
courage  to  tell  him  that  he  would  find  his  body  in  jail, 
and  then  silently  waited  for  the  words  which  should  tell 
me  that  he  declined  to  accept  it  until  it  was  returned  to 
the  place  where  he  had  left  it.  But,  to  my  surprise,  he 
looked  eagerly  curious,  instead  of  angry. 

“Why  is  it  in  jail?”  he  asked. 

I told  him. 

“Good!”  he  exclaimed.  “Old  fellow,  you  have  done 
well ! that  is  something  I have  always  longed  for,  but  I 
couldn’t  be  a high-class  villain  to  save  my  life.” 

“Do  you  mean,”  I gasped,  “that  you  are  willing  to  be 
hanged?” 

“Of  course  not,  simpleton ; but,  for  a time,  I am  quite 
willing  to  be  thought  a notorious  murderer.  Gad,  what 
good  times  are  in  store  for  me ! Think  of  the  crowds 
of  visitors  I shall  have ! Think  of  the  fruit  and  flowers 
and  books  and  photographs  and  confectionery  that  will 
be  showered  upon  me ! Think  of  the  sympathetic  ladies 


% 


A QUEER  DILEMMA.  45 

who  will  write  me  sweet-scented  notes  of  condolence ! 
Think  of  those  who  will  fall  in  love  with  me,  and  long  to 
marry  me  before  I am  hung!  And  all  the  while  I shall 
be  well  housed  and  well  fed  and  comfortably  dressed,  and 
Liz  will  have  no  hold  upon  me  whatsoever.” 

“But  it  can  not  last  forever,”  I said,  made  reckless  by 
my  longing  to  know  more  of  this  strange  character. 
“Sooner  or  later  there  will  come  the  hanging — ” 

“Oh,  no  danger  of  that!  As  soon  as  it  begins  to  look 
risky  I shall  prove  that  I am  myself,  not  Jack  the  Ripper. 
It  will  be*a  case  for  the  doctors  to  study,  for  it  will  be 
proven  that,  for  a time,  I forgot  every  incident  of  my 
former  life.  After  I’ve  passed  through  that  stage,  I may 
sue  for  damages  for  false  imprisonment.  Oh,  I have  ex- 
citement enough  in  store  to  last  a life  time.  Trust  me 
for  getting  out  of  a little  scrape  like  that.  Ta,  ta,  old  fel- 
low ! Whenever  you  want  some  one  to  keep  your  body 
warm,  don’t  hesitate  to  let  me  know.” 

I was  so  dazed  with  my  good  fortune  and  the  fellow’s 
insolence  that  he  had  been  gone  for  several  minutes  be- 
fore I remembered  that  he  had  not  told  me  where  to  find 
my  body.  It  was  a fearful  thought.  I realized  that  it 
would  be  useless,  as  well  as  dangerous,  to  try  and  over- 
take him,  for  there  was  no  knowing  that  he  would  not 
change  his  mind  as  to  the  desirability  of  occupying  a 
body  that  was  in  danger  of  being  hanged.  When  I 
thought  that  I might  be  obliged  to  hunt  for  hours  for  my 
body,  and  remembered  that  it  was  not  one  that  could  live 
long  without  the  presence  of  a soul,  I was  plunged  into 
a state  of  unhappiness  no  less  hard  to  bear  than  that  from 
which  I had  just  escaped.  I could  think  of  no  better 


46 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


course  to  pursue  than  to  go  home  at  once.  It  was  barely 
possible  that  I might  find  my  body  there. 

It  was  not  there.  The  house  was  dark,  empty,  silent 
as  before.  Not  a clue  did  it  contain  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  my  body. 

Heavy-hearted,  I visited  my  wife.  She  lay  on  the  bed 
where  I had  last  seen  her.  She  seemed  to  be  sleeping 
soundly,  but  there  were  "traces  of  tears  on  her  cheek.  In 
her  hand  was  a copy  of  the  evening  paper.  I glanced  at 
the  words  which  she  had  evidently  been  reading,  when 
she  fell  asleep. 

“SCANDAL IN  HIGH  LIFE!  ! !” 

Those  were  the  words  that  I saw,  in  the  most  insolent 
of  bold-face  type  that  could  possibly  have  been  pro- 
cured. I read  the  article  through  to  the  end.  It  told 
how  I,  David  Scranton,  had  cruelly  beaten  my  wife,  An- 
geline,  with  my  boot-jack,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses, 
and  how  she  had  taken  the  advice  of  her  family  and 
friends  and  instituted  proceedings  for  a divorce.  It 
hinted  that  I had  long  been  addicted  to  the  use  of  liquor, 
although  I had  been  very  successful  in  disguising  the 
fact,  and  ended  by  promising  its  readers  that  if  they 
would  visit  the  court  house  at  a certain  hour  of  a certain 
day  they  would  be  regaled  with  other  bits  of  juicy  news 
concerning  the  Scranton  family,  and  a certain  other 
family,  well  known  in  social  circles.. 

I do  not  attempt  to  quote,  but  simply  to  give  a synopsis 
of  an  article  that,  without  doubt,  made  me  the  maddest 
astral  in  the  universe. 

I could  gain  nothing  by  staying  where  I was,  so  I de- 
cided to  go-  to  Helen’s  house.  Perhaps  I might  learn 
something  there  about  myself.  If  I could  only  have 


47 


I glanced  at  the  words  she  had  been  reading. 


48 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


known  how  long  a time  had  elapsed  since  my  body  had 
been  vacated,  I might  not  have  been  so  worried.  It  was 
terrible  to  think  that  I might  even  now  be  dying.  But 
why  should  I want  to  live  when  Angeline  was  going  to 
get  a divorce?  What  would  life  be  worth,  if  it  must  be 
lived  without  her?  I had  never  believed  in  divorces,  and 
now  I was  more  than  ever  against  a country  where  the 
laws  made  them  possible.  Why  could  not  Angeline  have 
had  more  faith  in  me?  So  far  as  she  could  know,  she  had 
had  no  cause  to  doubt  me.  Why  could  not  her  love  for  me 
have  told  her  that  I could  not  strike  her,  and  be  myself? 
Of  course,  if  she  could  have  known  of  my  atmospherical 
journeys  with  Helen,  that  would,  undoubtedly,  have 
caused  her  to  lose  faith  in  me,  but  how  could  she  know  of 
them?  Even  if  she  were  told,  her  limited  knowledge  of 
such  things  would  have  moved  her  to  say  that  such  a 
thing  was  not  possible,  and  I should  be  saved.  I did  not 
want  Angeline  to  obtain  a divorce.  I believed  that  if  I 
could  obtain  possession  of  my  own  body,  send  for  her, 
and  let  her  see  that  I was  my  own  lovable  self,  I could 
easily  win  her  back  again,  and  all  would  be  well  for- 
ever after. 

My  first  glance  at  Helen,  on  reaching  her  room,  told 
me  that  she  had  again  astralized  herself.  I turned  to 
leave  the  room,  and  caught  sight  of  a card  which  she  had 
put  in  a conspicuous  place  beside  the  clock  on  her  dress- 
ing-table. It  contained  the  words,  '‘Beside  the  little  lake 
in  Italy.” 

Like  a flash  these  words  illumined  my  mind.  Helen 
had  discovered  the  fact  that  a strange  astral  had  posses- 
sion of  my  body.  She  believed  that,  in  my  consequent 
unhappiness,  I might  visit  her,  and  she  had  written  thesp 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


49 


words  hoping  that  I might  see  them,  and  join  her  on  the 
shore  of  the  beautiful  lak£  which  our  astral  bodies  had 
first  visited. 

My  surmises  were  entirely  correct.  In  less  time  than  it 
takes  to  write  it,  I was  floating  rapidly  through  the  air, 
en  route'  to  Italy.  Very  soon,  thereafter,  I was  sitting 
beside  my  friend,  and  we  were  rapidly  exchanging  con- 
fidences. 

“The  whiskey  and  tobacco  on  your  library  table  first 
aroused  my  suspicions,”  she  said,  “and  I determined  to 
verify  them ; but  I can  never  make  clear  to  you  all  that  it 
has  cost  me.” 

“All  it  has  cost  you !”  I exclaimed.  “If  you  imagine 
you  have  cause  for  complaint,  think  of  me.  No  astral  has 
taken  possession  of  your  body.” 

“But  things  have  happened  that  are  very  dreadful.” 

“What  can  you  mean?” 

“My  husband  has  discovered  that  there  are  times  when 
I sleep  too  soundly  to  be  aroused.  He  talked  with  med- 
ical experts  about  me,  and  when  last  I was  astralized.  he 
had  them  in  to  examine  me.” 

“Well,”  I said,  “and  what  good  did  that  do  them?” 

“It  gives  them  an  opportunity  to  display  their  surgical 
skill.  They  have  decided  that  my  brain  is  inflamed  from 
pressure  on  a certain  portion  of  it,  and  that  I am  a fit  sub- 
ject for  trepanning.” 

“The  dev — The  wretches  ! But  of  course  you  will  not 
submit.” 

“Not  if  I can  prevent  it ; but  no  one  believes  my  protes- 
tations that  I am  all  right.  Even  now,  while  I am  astral- 
ized, they  may  have  my  body  on  the  operating  table.” 

It  was  too  horrible  to  think  of.  I told  Helen  that  she 


50 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


must  return  to  her  precious  body  at  once,  never  to  leave 
it  again. 

“Yes,”  she  replied,  “but  first  I want  to  see  you  safely 
into  your  own  body,  else  I shall  fear  that  I have  run  this 
risk  in  vain.” 

“Do  you  know  where  my  body  is?” 

“Yes ; do  not  you?” 

“No.” 

“It  has  been  sent  up  to  the  workhouse  for  ninety  days 
for  drunkenness.” 

“It — it  has — what!” 

“Workhouse  — rock  heap  — drunkenness  — ninety 
days  !”  explained  Helen,  most  lucidly. 

“And  that  is  why  that  astral  villain  was  willing  to  give 
it  up ! Oh,  if  I were  but  in  the  flesh,  and  Jiad  him  in  my 
power !” 

“You  left  his  body  in  jail,  my  dear  friend,”  said  Helen, 
gently,  and  my  wrath  evaporated. 

“Eighty-nine  days  left  in  which  to  pound  rocks!  It 
was  not  a pleasant  prospect,  more  especially  to  one  un- 
used to  manual  labor ; but  I had  to  face  it.  I was  allowed 
a day  off,  when  the  time  came  for  me  to  meet  Angeline 
in  the  divorce  court.  Oh,  the  shame  of  that  moment! 
My  hands,  which  had  been  soft  and  white,  when  last  they 
clasped  hers,  were  now  rough  and  bleeding,  and  the  dirt 
was  worn  into  them  so  deeply  that  it  would  not  wash  off. 
A bit  of  flying  stone  had  hit  me  on  one  cheek,  closing  one 
eye  entirely.  My  clothing  hung  in  tatters.  I might  have 
had  another  suit,  by  sending  to  my  home  for  it,  but  I 
was  too  proud  to  do  that.  I meant  to  have  wife,  home, 
everything,  or — nothing. 

The  courtroom  wa*s  orowded.  It  was  proven  beyond  a 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


51 


doubt  that  I had  struck  my  wife  with  a boot-jack;  that  I 
had  used  violent  language  to  her  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses ; that  I had  shown  no  concern  when  she  lay  suffer- 
ing from  my  inhumanity ; that  I was  now  serving  a term 
for  drunkenness  at  the  workhouse. 

There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  room  when  I took 
the  stand  in  my  own  defense.  My  plan  was  to  prove  an 
alibi,  and  make  Angeline  ashamed  of  herself  for  believing 
me  capable  of  such  brutality. 

I told  my  story  in  the  most  straightforward  manner 
imaginable — just  as  I have  written  it  here,  except  that  I 
omitted  all  allusion  to  Helen. 

It  was  greeted  with  a roar  of  laughter,  in  which  judge 
and  jury  joined. 

That  was  not  what  I had  expected.  My  soul  raged 
with  anger  and  disappointment.  My  heart  sank  with  an 
added  load  of  hopelessness;  but  what  could  I do?  The 
smiling  court  officials  requested  the  giggling  spectators  to 
restrain  their  mirth  long  enough  to  listen  to  the  decision. 
In  a few  moments  Angeline  and  I were  not  related  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law. 

I was  escorted  back  to  the  workhouse. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  I was  visited  by  An- 
geline  and  Col.  Saunders. 

“You!”  I exclaimed  to  Angeline,  “you  here  with  him! 
Is  it  for  this  that  Helen  is  to  be  trepanned — that  I have 
been  divorced?” 

“How  do  you  know  that  Helen  is  to  be  trepanned ?J 
asked  Angeline. 

“She  told  me  so  herself — ” I began,  and  then  stopped, 
embarrassed.  It  was  supposed  that  I had  not  seen  Helen 


LIBRARY  > — 

•'DIVERSITY  OF  H11N01S 


52 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


since  that  operation  had  been  decided  upon.  My  em- 
barrassment was  very  evident. 

“Go  on,”  said  Col.  Saunders.  “You  might  as  well.  I 
know  more  than  you  think.” 

Then  I told  them  that  Helen  had  accompanied  me  in 
my  atmospheric  journeyings,  being  very  careful  to  make 
them  understand  that  nothing  but  platonic  friendship, 
and  a deep  love  of  scientific  questions,  had  drawn  us  to- 
gether. “You  have  judged  me  most  unkindly,”  I added, 
“but  you  need  not  seek  further  satisfaction  in  an  opera- 
tion that  may  cost  Helen  her  life.  I suppose,  however,  it 
will  simplify  matters  so  far  as  you  two  are  concerned,  if 
she  should  die  under  the  operation.” 

“Mr.  Scranton,”  said  Angeline,  coldly,  “do  you  im- 
agine platonic  friendship  impossible  to  anyone  except 
yourself  and  Helen?” 

I saw  the  point,  at  once,  and  said  no  more  ; but  jealousy 
burned  within  me.  I had  heard  of  the  friendship  existing 
between  Col.  Saunders  and  Angeline,  and  I am  free  to 
say  that  it  did  not  please  me  to  know  that  she  had  not 
found  my  companionship  all-sufficient.  I ought  to  have 
been  glad  that  he  was  able  to  afford  her  comfort,  during 
the  dark  days  that  followed  the  possession  of  my  body 
by  that  astral  fiend,  but  I was  not.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  her  relatives  could  have  afforded  her  all  the  com- 
fort she  ought  to  have  required. 

“Mr.  Scranton,”  said  Col.  Saunders,  “we  are  here  to 
ask  you  how  much  truth  there  is  in  that  ridiculous  story 
you  told  yesterday.” 

“You  did  not  believe  me  yesterday,  and  you  will  not 
today,”  I answered,  sullenly.  “Why  should  I repeat  it?” 
“By  doing  so,  you  may  enable  me  to  reach  a conclusion 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


53 


concerning  my  poor  wife.  She  tells  a story  very  sim- 
ilar to  yours,  in  which  she  mentions  a family — " 

“In  England ?"  I interrupted. 

“Yes.  She  called  them — ” 

“Jack  Walsh ; Liz,  his  wife ; Jane,  his  sister-in-law/' 

“Exactly.  Why  did  you  not  mention  those  names  in 
the  court  room? 

“How  in  the  world  could  I in  the  face  of  that  grinning 
mob  ! I talked  as  long  as  anyone  would  listen." 

“That  is  quite  true,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Angeline  to 
Col.  Saunders.  “He  was  stopped  by  the  laughter." 

As  it  began  to  look  as  if  my  story  might  be  believed, 
and  I might  stand  before  the  world  as  one  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning,  I began  to  lose  the  air  of  one 
crushed  by  circumstances,  and  to  assume  that  of  proud 
consciousness  of  my  own  worth.  I was  not  slow  to  per- 
ceive that  Angeline  loved  me  still,  and  I was  not  as  sorry 
as  I might  otherwise  have  been  to  see  that  she  was  suffer- 
ing intensely.  I quickly  decided  that  she  must  make  the 
advances,  not  I,  and  I looked  forward  with  considerable 
satisfaction  to  the  day  when  I should  take  her  in  my  arms 
and  tell  her  that  she  was  forgiven  for  having  shown  so  lit- 
tle faith  in  me.  I fully  realized  that  my  punishment  had 
already  been  greater  than  my  folly  deserved.  But  I 
should  find  some  compensation  in  reducing  Angeline  to 
a satisfactory  state  of  penitence  for  having  doubted  me  for 
a moment. 

Col.  Saunders  and  Angeline  left  me  without  making 
any  comment  on  the  story  I had  repeated,  and  I went 
back  to  the  rock  heap  with  hope  singing  gaily  in  my 
bosom.  That  steps  would  be  taken  to  procure  my  im- 
mediate release,  I had  not  the  slightest  doubt.  That  I 


54 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


should  again  be  united  to  my  beloved  Angeline  I was 
equally  sure,  and  that  we  should  live  happily  forever 
afterward  was,  of  course,  only  a natural  conclusion. 

I had  the  somewhat  doubtful  satisfaction  of  seeing  a 
part  of  my  story  given  in  the  evening  paper,  with  com- 
ments by  some  scientific  gentleman  who  had  become  in- 
terested in  it,  and  a great  deal  of  senseless  raillery  added 
by  the  editor,  who  was  more  impressed  by  the  fact  that  I 
had  gone  on  my  queer  journey  with  a woman  who  was 
not  my  wife,  and  with  whom  I had  the  assurance  to  pre- 
tend I was  not  in  love,  than  with  the  scientific  aspect  of 
the  affair.  How  did  the  reporter  get  hold  of  that  part  of 
it ! If  there  is  one  class  of  things  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
more  despicable  than  every  other  class,  it  is  known  by 
the  name  of  newspaper  reporters.  At  least,  such  is  my 
opinion.  It  will  receive  the  hearty  support  of  every 
man  whose  private  affairs  have  been  ferreted  out  and 
given  to  the  public  without  his  knowledge  or  consent. 

What  most  interested  me  was  the  added  intelligence 
that  an  expected  cablegram  would  soon  prove  the  re- 
liability of  my  story,  or,  at  least,  that  part  of  it  relating 
to  the  family  in  England. 

On  the  next  day  but  one  I was  visited  by  Angeline’s 
father,  who  told  me  that  I was  free  to  leave  the  work- 
house.  My  story  had  been  verified,  and  it  had  been  de- 
cided that  I ought  not  to  be  punished  for  what  another 
had  done. 

“My  daughter  wished  me  to  say,”  continued  the  old 
gentleman,  “that  what  communications  you  have  to  make 
regarding  your  personal  effects,  now  at  her  house,  may  be 
made  through  the  lawyer  who  procured  her  divorce.” 

“Her  divorce !”  I managed  to  stammer.  “Sir,  that  di- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


55 


vorce  is  not  legal.  It  was  procured  on  false  evidence.  It 
was  not  I who  used  the  boot-jack — ” 

“My  daughter  intends  to  abide  by  the  decision  rendered 
in  the  divorce  court,”  interrupted  Angeline's  father,  with 
great  firmness.  “The  fact  that  you  did  not  find  her 
companionship  sufficient,  that  you  willfully  deceived  her, 
that  you  did  what  you  would  not  have  been  willing  she 
should  do,  that  you  abused  her  confidence  in  you,  that, 
worst  of  all,  you  ran  away  with  another  man's  wife,  and 
her  friend — but  why  enumerate ! You  can  easily  see  that 
you  have  done  much  that  a self-respecting  woman  would 
find  hard  to  forgive.” 

“But  the  fact  that  we  went  as  astrals  ought  to  con- 
vince her  that  she  has  not  good  grounds  for  her  jeal- 
ousy— ” I began. 

“Nonsense!”  interrupted  the  father.  “You  know  as 
well  as  I do  that  you  did  not  want  your  wife  to  accompany 
you,  even  as  astrals.  It  was  not  what  you  did,  but  what 
prompted  you  to  do  it,  that  makes  her  believe  that  it  is 
better  for  both  of  you  never  to  see  each  other  again.  1 
bid  you  good  afternoon,  sir.” 

And  this  was  the  end  of  my  castle  in  the  air ! This  was 
the  way  Angeline  begged  for  forgiveness ! This  was  the 
way  I was  compensated  for  having  been  unduly  punish- 
ed! Verily  that  man  is  a fool,  who,  believing  he  under- 
stands woman,  dares  predict  what  she  will  do  or  say,  and 
act  accordingly. 

It  was  some  time  before  I allowed  my  common  sense 
to  control  my  anger,  and  give  my  mind  a chance  to  listen 
to  the  promptings  of  my  heart.  I believed  Angeline  haa 
not  lost  her  love  for  me.  She  was  angry,  and  I had  been 
wrong;  but  woman's  love  overlooks  a great  deal.  Her 


56 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


heart  would  plead  for  me.  I loved  her,  loved  her  de- 
votedly. I had  won  her  once  before,  and  I would  win  her 
again.  At  least,  I would  try. 

My  first  act,  after  leaving  the  workhouse,  and  finding  a 
suitable  boarding-place,  was  to  write  a long  letter  to 
Angeline.  I put  my  whole  soul  into  it.  I laid  my 
heart  bare  before  her,  and  pleaded  as  I shall  never  be 
able  to  plead  again.  Scalding  tears  rolled  down  my 
cheeks  as  I wrote,  and  dropped,  unheeded,  on  the  paper, 
I allowed  them  to  remain,  knowing  that  it  would  not  be 
many  hours  before  tears  from  Angeline’s  eyes  would  join 
them. 

The  letter  was  mailed.  I could  hardly  control  my 
impatience  while  waiting  its  reply.  It  came  by  the  next 
mail.  I give  it  entire. 

Dear  Mr.  Scranton: 

I have  just  finished  reading  your  letter,  and  it  has  but  added  to 
the  terrible  ache  in  my  heart.  I think  my  heart  will  never  ceas-e 
hurting,  now.  I wish  I could  forget  everything,  and  go  to  you; 
but,  because  I can  not  forget,  I*  know  we  should  not  be  able  to  live 
happily  together.  Your  love  was  my  world.  I cared  for  nothing 
else.  I was  happy,  believing  that  it  was  mine,  alone,  and  that  you 
were  entirely  satisfied  with  what  I gave  in  return.  I would  give 
half  my  life  if  my  beautiful  dream  had  not  been  taken  from  me.  I 
would  rather  have  kept  my  delusion,  until  my  eyes  were  opened 
in  heaven,  where  I might  have  found  relief  for  my  heartache.  Oh, 
if  I had  not  believed  in  you  so  completely,  it  would  be  easier  now! 
It  is  not  that  I do  not  believe  you  love  me  more  than  Helen,  but 
that  I know  you  did  not  love  me  as  I thought  you  did.  I can 
not  be  satisfied  with  less  than  I supposed  was  mine.  It  hurts  tu 
know  that  my  love  was  not  sufficient.  It  hurts  to  know  that 
I was  given  a divided  affection.  If  you  had  cared  for  me  as 
I did  for  you,  you  could  have  had  no  thought  of  another. 
Should  we  try  to  live  together  again,  the  knowledge  that  I now 
have  would,  sooner  or  later,  be  death  to  our  love,  and  life  would 
become  unendurable  to  us  both.  I could  never  again  believe  im- 
plicitly in  your  protestations,  because  you  deceived  me  once,  and 
I should  always  have  to  fight  the  thought,  “he  is  deceiving  me 
again.”  Love  can  not  live  where  doubt  has  an  abiding-place. 
My  delusion  has  made  me  incapable  of  making  the  best  of  the  real- 


A QUEER  DILEMMA. 


57 


ity.  My  heart  is  breaking,  but  life  with  you,  under  the  changed 
conditions,  would  not  heal  it.  It  will  be  better  for  us  both  never 
to  meet  again,  and  I should  be  glad  to  hear  that  you  had  decided 
to  reside  at  some  distance  from  this  place.  A man’s  heart  is  not 
like  a woman’s,  and  I think  you  will  not  long  remain  wholly  un- 
comforted. I hope  you  will  not.  If  you  can  make  yourself  an- 
other home,  I want  you  to  do  so.  That  you  might  be  free  to  do 
as  you  wished  in  the  matter  is  the  reason  I applied  for  a divorce. 

Yours  sincerely, 

Angeline. 

And  thus  it  ended.  I knew  Angeline  well  enough  to 
believe  her  entirely  in  earnest.  I knew  that  I had  lost  her 
forever.  If  I could  only  have  understood  her  in  the  first 
place,  as  I understood  her  now,  how  happy — But  this  is 
worse  than  useless.  As  I have  always  done,  I attempted 
to  lock  the  door  after  the  horse  was  stolen. 


5S 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


A Twentieth  Century  Romance* 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  had  been  considered  a fine  house  in  1892  when  it  was 
finished  ready  for  occupancy.  It  was  built  of  brownstone, 
it  was  large  and  commodious,  it  was  strictly  modern,  and 
it  was  surrounded  by  handsome  grounds.  It  was  owned 
by  Harlow  Winthrop,  the  wealthiest  man  in  the  city. 
Winthrop  was  a man  who  always  desired  to  be  identified 
with  everything  new,  hoping  that  it  might  prove  to  be  the 
avenue  down  which  his  name  would  travel  to  posterity. 
He  was  not  contented  simply  to  be  rich.  He  had  a fine 
wife  and  as  nice  a family  of  children  as  man  need  wish  for, 
and  one  of  the  children,  his  firstborn,  was  said  to  be  as 
much  like  his  father  as  a half  grown  English  pea  is  like 
the  matured  specimen.  This  son  was  named  Harold. 

The  family  moved  into  the  new  house  on  the  third  day 
of  October,  1892,  and  two  weeks  later  a grand  house- 
warming was  given  by  their  friends  and  neighbors.  It 
was  at  this  housewarming  that  Papa  Winthrop  decided  to 
entertain  his  guests  by  an  exhibition  of  his  knowledge  of 
hypnotism,  which  was  at  that  time  a subject  beginning  to 
attract  attention  among  ordinary  people. 

Winthrop  had  taken  to  it  with  the  eagerness  and  enthu- 
siasm which  he  had  always  shown  for  speculative  topics 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


59 


and  for  weeks  had  been  practicing  on  every  one  whom  he 
could  coax,  hire  or  command  to  submit  themselves  to  his 
powers.  His  son  Harold  was  proved  to  be  the  most  satis- 
factory subject  and  therefore  afforded  his  father  more 
pleasure  than  he  had  since  his  birth,  twenty-three  years 
before  the  new  house  was  built.  On  the  evening  of  the 
housewarming  he  came  forward  obediently  at  the  call  of 
his  father  and  seated  himself  in  an  armchair  in  full  view 
of  the  assembled  guests. 

“Now,”  said  Mr.  Winthrop,  who  was  pleased  beyond 
measure  to  have  so  large  an  audience,  “now  I am  going 
to  put  Harold  to  sleep  for  a certain  length  of  time,  at  the 
expiration  of  which  he  will  awaken  without  assistance, 
but  previous  to  that  time  no  one  can  arouse  him.” 

Harold  began  to  stare  at  the  shining  stopper  of  a glass 
bottle  placed  between  himself  and  the  light,  while  Mr. 
Winthrop  pressed  firmly  on  a certain  spot  on  the  top  of 
his  son’s  head. 

“How  long  shall  he  sleep?”  asked  Mr.  Winthrop  when 
Harold  began  to  appear  drowsy. 

“Until  eleven  o’clock,”  suggested  the  mischievous  son 
of  the  wealthiest  family  present. 

Harold  stirred  as  if  to  protest,  but  was  too  sleepy  to 
speak. 

“Yes,  make  it  eleven  o’clock,”  echoed  the  mother  ©f  the 
mischievous  son,  not  because  she  cared,  but  because  she 
always  made  it  a point  to  insist  on  the  gratification  of  her 
son’s  wishes  so  long  as  they  did  not  conflict  with  her  own. 
The  son  knew  that  Letty  Mays  must  return  to  her  home 
at  half  past  ten,  and  that  Harold  Winthrop  expected  to 
accompany  her.  The  recollection  of  that  expectation 
stirred  Harold’s  drowsy  brain  and  prevented  him  from 


60 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


submitting  to  his  father's  hypnotic  power  with  his  usual 
passivity.  It  is  possible  that  that  is  the  reason  why  the 
exhibition  did  not  terminate  according  to  expectation. 
There  were  many  reasons  given  during  the  years  which 
followed,  for  at  last  Mr.  Winthrop  had  succeeded  in  find- 
ing the  coveted  fame.  It  was  said  in  those  days  and  has 
been  argued  since  that  the  operator  in  hypnotism  must 
have  full  confidence  in  his  own  power  in  order  to  be 
entirely  successful,  and  the  elder  Winthrop  was  certainly 
not  lacking  in  that  respect.  He  had  put  Harold  to  sleep 
too  many  times  to  have  any  doubts  as  to  his  awakening 
at  the  appointed  time.  It  was  afterward  decided  that  in 
order  to  have  a successful  exhibition  it  was  also  neces- 
sary that  the  one  who  acted  as  the  subject  to  be  operated 
upon  should  be  free  from  troubled  thoughts  when  he  sat 
down.  Every  one  said  that  such  a conclusion  was  proved 
by  the  result  of  Mr.  Winthrop’s  experiment  and  gave  so 
many  reasons  why  this  should  be  thus  that  any  one  who 
dared  acknowledge  not  having  thought  of  it  long  before 
the  night  of  the  housewarming  was  looked  upon  as  an 
ignoramus.  The  rich  young  man  was  severely  con- 
demned for  having  suggested  the  hour  of  eleven  as  that 
on  which  the  awakening  was  to  take  place,  an-d  there  were 
many  who  went  so  far  as  to  say  he  hoped  thereby  to  win 
Letty  Mays  himself. 

Harold  slept  well,  and  the  guests  amused  themselves  by 
trying  in  various  ways  to  arouse  him,  but  all  their  efforts 
were  in  vain.  Pretty  Letty  Mays,  who  did  not  believe  he 
really  slept,  but  thought  he  had  learned  to  control  his 
features  wonderfully  well,  crept  to  his  side  when  the  atten- 
tion of  the  guests  was  drawn  to  another  part  of  the  room 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


61 


and  whispered  in  his  ear  that  it  was  nearly  time  for  her 
to  go.  Harold  did  not  stir. 

“This  is  nonsense,  Harold/’  she  then  whispered  petu- 
lantly. “I  know  you  are  feigning  just  as  well  as  you 
know  it.  If  you  do  not  arouse  yourself  this  minute,  I 
shall  think  it  is  because  you  care  more  for  your  father’s 
folly  than  for  my  wishes.” 

Harold  remained  motionless,  and  Letty  hurried  into  the 
dressing  room,  found  her  wraps,  and,  disappearing 
through  a side  door,  went  home  unattended  before  any 
one  could  guess  her  intention. 

Before  she  went  to  sleep  that  night  she  wrote  a curt 
note  to  Harold,  releasing  him  from  their  engagement  and 
informing  him  that  a messenger  would  take  to  him  the 
next  day  all  the  books  and  trinkets  which  he  had  given 
her.  But  before  the  things  were  packed  she  learned  that 
Harold  had  not  yet  awakened,  although  he  had  slept  for 
nearly  twenty  hours,  and  that  the  family  physician  had 
been  called.  The  physician  tried  various  remedies,  none 
of  which  proved  useful,  said  he  could  have  done  more 
had  he  been  called  earlier,  charged  a fee  large  enough  to 
support  his  entire  family  for  a month,  and  went  home 
feeling  that  no  man  could  have  acted  with  greater  credit 
to  himself  or  with  greater  profit,  either,  for  that  matter. 

Hours  lengthened  into  days,  days  became  weeks  and 
weeks  months,  yet  Harold  Winthrop  slept.  The  elder 
Winthrop  grew  thin  and  white  with  worry;  Mrs.  Win- 
throp became  silently  accusing  and  refused  to  kiss  her 
husband  until  their  son  should  be  himself  again ; the 
younger  members  of  the  family  lost  the  joy  of  youth  in 
the  heavy  cloud  which  hung  over  the  household ; the 


62 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


servants  would  not  pass  at  night  the  door  of  the  silent 
room  where  their  young  master  slept. 

Five  years  from  the  date  of  the  housewarming  Mr. 
Winthrop  died,  leaving  a will  so  drawn  that  the  bulk  of 
his  fortune  should  be  held  in  trust  for  Harold,  the  interest 
to  be  enjoyed  by  those  who  had  the  care  of  him. 

After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Winthrop  Harold  was  given 
into  the  care  of  James,  the  second  son.  Thirty-five  years 
later  James  died,  and  the  fine  old  home  passed  into  the 
hands  of  Henry,  who  agreed  to  care  for  his  Uncle  Harold 
to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Harold  still  slept.  As  he  needed  little  more  care  than 
the  furniture  in  an  unused  room,  Henry  felt  that  it  was  as 
easy  a way  of  earning  a livelihood  as  he  should  be  likely 
to  find.  He  was  forced  to  own,  however,  after  a few 
years’  experience,  that  they  were  wiser  who  preferred  life 
away  from  the  shadow  cast  by  an  uncle  who,  although  not 
dead,  might  better  have  been.  , 

No  servant  who  had  heard  of  the  “sleeper” — usually 
spoken  in  a whisper  by  that  class — could  be  induced  to 
enter  the  house,  and  they  who  had  not  heard  of  him  re- 
ceived information  soon  after  their  arrival  and  left  with- 
out the  customary  warning.  Young  ladies  did  not  care 
to  give  themselves  to  a young  man  who,  for  all  they  knew 
to  the  contrary,  might  suddenly  fall  into  a sleep  such  as 
his  uncle  was  enjoying,  and  Henry  might  never  have 
married  had  he  not  availed  himself  of  the  privileges  of  a 
matrimonial  bureau  and  done  his  courting  by  corres- 
pondence. 

Henry  died  in  the  year  1972,  just  forty  years  after 
assuming  the  care  of  his  uncle,  and  his  eldest  son,  James, 
undertook  to  fill  his  place. 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


63 


CHAPTER  II 

Twenty  years  later,  in  October,  1992,  Harold  Winthrop 
awoke,  after  a refreshing  nap  of  just  one  hundred  years 
in  length.  Mrs.  James  Winthrop  had  gone  into  his  room 
that  morning  with  a feather  duster,  with  which  she  pro- 
posed to  brush  the  dust  from  his  face  and  hands.  It  was 
a task  which  she  attended  to  about  once  in  six  weeks. 
She  found  Harold  sitting  up  in  bed,  trying  to  rub  his  eyes 
open.  When  she  entered,  he  stared  at  her  in  undisguised 
astonishment.  So  far  as  he  was  aware,  he  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  receive  lady  visitors  in  that  way,  especially  when 
they  came  unannounced.  Mrs.  James  let  the  feather 
duster  fall  to  the  floor.  She  opened  her  pretty  mouth, 
gave  one  shriek  and  staggered  out  into  the  hall.  The 
servants  who  heard  the  shriek  sent  at  once  for  medical 
assistance  with  the  beautiful  presence  of  mind  which  was 
characteristic  of  that  age.  There  were  some  among  them 
who  had  never  before  heard  a woman  scream,  and  who 
knew  no  more  about  a fainting  fit  than  Harold  Winthrop 
knew  about  the  man  in  the  moon. 

James  Winthrop,  Jr.,  knew  that  there  must  be  some 
good  cause  for  his  wife’s  strange  behavior  and  rushed  up 
the  broad  staircase.  His  wife  still  leaned  against  the  wall. 
He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  and  she  pointed  to  the  room 
where  Harold  had  slept,  with  a manner  that  seemed  to  say 
that  poor  James  was  very  much  to  blame  about  some- 
thing. Mr.  James  Winthrop  stepped  into  the  room,  took 
one  look  at  his  great-uncle  and  fell  in  a dead  faint  to  the 
floor. 

“Poor  fellow !”  exclaimed  his  wife,  stooping  over  him. 


64 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


“I  should  have  thought  how  delicate  he  is.”  The  servants 
offered  assistance,  but  she  waved  them  away,  and  tenderly 
lifting  her  little  husband  into  her  strong  arms  bore  him 
to  his  own  room  and  laid  him  upon  the  bed. 

Harold  had  sprung  from  his  bed  when  he  saw  her  lift 
her  husband.  He  was  not  used  to  seeing  a woman  do  a 
thing  like  that,  and  his  first  thought  was  to  offer  assist- 
ance, but  his  threadbare  nightgown  fell  away  from  him 
in  shreds,  and  he  quickly  crept  under  the  bedding  again. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  returned  as  soon  as  her  husband  gave 
signs  of  returning  consciousness  and  graciously  inquired 
how  she  might  make  herself  useful  to  Harold. 

“I  should  like  my  clothes,  if  you  please,”  he  replied. 
“I  cannot  seem  to  find  them.  I thought  I left  them  on 
that  chair.” 

“Perhaps  you  did,”  said  Mrs.  Winthrop,  “but  did  you 
suppose  they  could  stay  there  forever?” 

“Have  I slept  so  very  late?”  asked  Harold,  who  had 
often  made  the  family  and  servants  extra  work  by  so 
doing.  He  thought  the  lady  before  him  was  the  new 
housekeeper  whom  his  mother  had  talked  of  engaging  and 
mentally  styled  her  an  unusually  fine  specimen  of  woman- 
hood. 

“Have  you  slept  so  very  late?”  repeated  Mrs.  Winthrop. 
“Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know  that  you  have  slept 
a hundred  years?” 

“A  hundred  years ! Oh,  land  o’  Goshen !”  Harold 
laughed  heartily,  then  suddenly  became  serious,  believing 
that  his  mother’s  new  housekeeper  was  crazy.  “You  poor 
thing!”  he  said.  “Don’t  mind  my  laughing.  I always 
did  laugh  easily.  Won’t  you  tell  me  your  name?” 

“My  name,  sir,  is  Mrs.  James  Winthrop.  I am  the  wife 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


65 


of  your  nephew’s  son.  I do  not  wonder  at  your  surprise. 
It  must  be  strange  to  be  suddenly  confronted  with  those 
who  were  born  and  have  grown  up  while  you  slept.  We, 
however,  are  no  less  surprised.  We  had  grown  to  believe 
that  you  would  never  awaken.” 

“Great  thunder !”  exclaimed  Harold,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  be  out  of  patience.  “Bring  my  clothes,  madam, 
or  I’ll  know  the  reason  why!  Do  you  suppose  I am 
going  to  lie  here  all  day  listening  to  your  crazy  talk?” 

“I  shall  not  compel  you  to  listen  to  me  unless  you 
like,”  replied  Mrs.  Winthrop  calmly,  “but  I really  do  not 
see  but  that  you  must  lie  here  until  a tailor  can  take 
your  measurements  and  make  you  some  clothes.  You 
have  nothing  to  put  on  which  will  hold  together.  The 
appearance  of  your  nightgown  should  be  enough  to  con- 
vince you  that  I am  not  telling  you  an  untruth.” 

When  Harold  stopped  to  think  of  it,  he  was  obliged  to 
admit  that  it  was  proof  that  he  must  have  slept  longer 
than  he  had  thought,  or  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a joke 
over  which  he  had  no  control.  He  concluded  to  humor 
the  lady  and  see  if  he  might  not  find  a key  to  the  solution. 

“Could  you  not,”  he  said,  “send  out  and  buy  me  a 
ready-made  suit?” 

“It  would  be  impossible  to  find  anything  large  enough,” 
replied  Mrs.  Winthrop.  “We  have  no  men  so  large  as 
you.  Really  you  will  have  to  be  patient  a little  while. 
I have  sent  for  a tailor,  who  will  be  here  very  soon.” 

A little  more  conversation  followed,  which  te'nded  to 
mystify  Harold  more  and  more.  Then  Mrs.  Winthrop 
left  the  room,  and  soon  afterward  her  husband  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  Harold  recognized  him  at  once  as  the 
man  who  had  fainted.  He  was  yet  pale,  but  the  excite- 


66 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


ment  of  beholding  the  man  who  had  awakened  after  a nap 
of  a hundred  years  had  brought  a faint  color  to  his  lips 
and  a becoming  brightness  to  his  eyes. 

“He  is  a dear  little  thing/'  thought  Harold,  “but  how 
much  more  attractive  he  would  be  in  skirts !" 

The  little  man  came  slowly  into  the  room,  looking  as  it 
he  were  doubtful  as  to  the  wisdom  of  such  a procedure, 
and  Harold  hoped  that  he  might  prove  to  be  more  helpful 
than  his  crazy  wife  had  keen. 

“Good  morning,  sir,"  he  said  pleasantly.  “Can  you  tell 
me  how  long  I have  slept?" 

“One  hundred  years  to-day,"  was  the  unexpected  and 
highly  exasperating  reply. 

“Another  lunatic !’’  groaned  Harold.  “What  can 
mother  be  thinking  of?" 

“How  do  you  feel?"  inquired  the  little  man.  “Are  you 
stifif?  Will  your  joints  work?  My,  but  you  have  slept! 
The  scientific  world  has  made  you  a study  for  genera- 
tions." 

“Much  obliged,  I’m  sure,"  replied  Harold  in  default  of 
a more  brilliant  reply.  It  was  somewhat  amusing  to  a 
man  who  knew  himself  to  be  just  twenty-three  years  of 
age  to  be  told  that  he  had  been  an  object  of  curiosity  for 
generations. 

“What  has  the  scientific  world  thought  to  do  about 
you?"  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  inquire. 

“They  say  this  is  man’s  century,"  replied  the  little  fel- 
low, “but  I don’t  know  that  I understand  the  meaning  of 
that.  There  are  many  men  who  are  dissatisfied  with 
things  in  general,  but  I don’t  know  why  they  should,  be, 
I’m  sure.  I’m  comfortable  enough,  and  I don’t  believe 
a change  would  make  things  an#y  better." 


67 


How  much  more  attractive  he  would  be  in  skirts. 


68 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


This  was  all  Greek  to  Harold,  and  when  he  was  in 
college  he  declined  to  study  Greek. 

“I  wonder  if  you  are  really  a man?”  he  asked.  “You 
are  pretty  enough  for  a doll.” 

“Do  you  think  me  pretty?”  The  little  man  blushed 
beautifully.  “Wife  says  I am,”  he  added.  “She  is  awfully 
jealous,  don’t  you  know.  But  you  are  a man,  too.  She 
doesn’t  like  to  have  another  woman  look  at  me,  but  she 
ought  not  to  mind  because  a man  thinks  me  pretty,  ought 
she?” 

Harold  was  disgusted.  He  wanted  to  take  the  little 
fellow  between  his  thumb  and  finger  and  crush  him,  but 
restrained  himself  with  the  thought  that  the  man  was  a 
lunatic. 

“You — get — my — clothes,”  he  said,  with  great  stern- 
ness. He  hoped  to  frighten  his  guest  into  obedience. 
“Get  them  this  minute  or  I’ll” — 

“But,  sir,”  faltered  the  little  man,  “your  clothes  were 
moth  eaten  years  ago.” 

“Oh,  heavens ! See  here,  you  chattering  monkey,  if 
you  don’t  do  as  I tell  you  I’ll  drop  you  out  of  the  window.” 

Harold  arose  as  if  to  execute  his  threat,  and  the  little 
man  fled,  screaming,  into  the  hall.  Harold  wrapped  his 
tattered  bedding  about  him  and  followed,  determined  to 
find  something  to  wear.  He  was  just  in  time  to  see  Mrs. 
Winthrop  caressing  her  little  husband  and  to  hear  her  tell- 
ing him  not  to  be  afraid,  for  nothing  should  hurt  him  as 
long  as  she  lived  to  protect  him. 

“Go  back  to  your  room,”  she  said  sternly  when  she  saw 
Harold.  It  is  exactly  what  he  would  have  been  most 
anxious  to  do  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  now  he 
felt  that  he  was  in  a place  where  desperate  measures  must 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


69 


be  employed.  He  was  convinced  that  his  garments  had 
been  taken  from  his  own  room  by  some  one  whose  inten- 
tions were  not  of  the  friendliest,  and  he  determined  to  go 
down  stairs  and  find  some  member  of  his  family,  even 
though  he  must  appear  in  tattered  nightgown  and  bed- 
ding much  the  worse  from  wear.  So  when  Mrs.  Winthrop 
ordered  him  back  to  his  room  he  simply  told  her  to  go  to 
thunder,  nor  did  he  feel  at  all  ashamed  for  speaking  so 
rudely  to  a lady,  as  he  would  have  done  had  she  seemed 
to  him  less  like  a man  and  more  like  a woman. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  gently  pushed  her  husband  toward  a 
door  leading  to  another  room. 

“Go  in  there,  dear,”  she  said,  “and  do  not  be  afraid, 
ril  get  him  back  to  bed  in  a moment.” 

“I  don’t  want  to  strike  a lady,”  Harold  remarked,  with 
great  earnestness,  “but  if  you  touch  me  you’ll  be  sorry.” 

Mrs.  Winthrop  showed  no  nervousness. 

“Will  you  walk  back  to  your  room,”  she  asked,  “or 
must  I carry  you?” 

Harold  made  no  reply.  He  thought  it  scarcely  worth 
while.  He  started  to  pass  her  that  he  might  go  down 
stairs,  when  he  suddenly  felt  her  arms  around  his  waist. 
He  endeavored  to  free  himself,  but  could  not. 

“If  you  don’t  release  me,  I’ll  knock  you  down!”  he 
thundered.  The  little  man  screamed  in  terror  and  begged 
his  wife  to  let  him  go  for  help,  but  she  commanded  him 
to  keep  quiet.  Mrs.  Winthrop  was  perfectly  self-pos- 
sessed. Harold  felt  that  he  was  being  lifted  from  his  feet. 
He  fought  desperately,  but  when  one  has  slept  for  a 
hundred  years  one’s  strength  becomes  exhausted.  Har- 
old was  no  match  for  the  powerful  woman,  and  almost 
before  he  knew  it  he  was  held  firmly  on  his  bed  by  Mrs. 


70 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


Winthrop,  who  called  to  her  husband  to  bring  fresh  bed- 
ding 'to  be  used  in  place  of  that  which  he  had  destroyed. 

“Now,  sir,”  she  said  when  Harold  no  longer  offered 
resistance,  “I  want  to  have  no  more  trouble  with  you. 
You  have  lain  here  a hundred  years,  and  it  won’t  hurt 
you  to  keep  quiet  a day  or  two  longer.  You  must  stay 
until  the  tailor  comes  to  make  your  suit.” 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room  again,  and  Harold  called 
after  her  to  remain. 

“Stop!”  he  implored.  “Where  is  my  father?” 

“No  one  knows,  sir.  He  died  about  five  years  after  he 
had  put  you  into  that  hypnotic  sleep,  so  I am  told.  He 
had  expected  to  awaken  you  in  a few  hours,  and  when  he 
failed  to  do  it  his  heart  broke.  It  is  quite  a wonderful 
historical  fact,  sir.  Should  you  like  to  see  a school  his- 
tory?” 

“No,  I think  not,”  replied  Harold  faintly.  A sudden 
remembrance  had  illumined  his  mind.  He  recalled  the 
housewarming  and  his  opposition  to  being  made  to  sleep 
past  the  hour  when  he  wished  to  walk  home  with  Letty 
Mays.  He  looked  at  his  hands.  They  had  been  brown 
from  boating  when  he  went  to  sleep.  He  had  spent  many 
hours  in  trying  to  get  them  as  deeply  sunburned  as  those 
of  the  leaders  in  the  athletic  club  to  which  he  belonged. 
Now  they  were  as  white  and  soft  as  a baby’s.  He  knew 
that  they  could  not  have  been  bleached  in  one  night.  He 
looked  around  his  room.  It  had  been  painfully  new  when 
he  went  to  sleep ; now  much  of  the  woodwork  was  moth 
eaten.  Instead  of  a smell  of  varnish  there  was  a smell  of 
decay.  The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  convinced 
he  became  that  the  woman  and  her  husband  had  spoken 
the  truth,  and  that  he  had  slept  many  years.  He  tried 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


71 


to  realize  his  position.  It  was  far  from  being  desirable, 
as  may  be  imagined.  None  of  his  near  relatives  was 
living.  There  was  not  one  soul  whom  he  knew  to  con- 
gratulate him  on  having  awakened.  He  neither  felt  nor 
looked  a day  older  than  when  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  and 
he  told  himself  that  he  could  not  hope  to  die  for  many 
years.  Yet  life  looked  to  him  to  be  hardly  worth  living. 
He  had  always  dreaded  change.  He  disliked  making  new 
acquaintances,  but  now  he  faced  the  necessity  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  persons  of  whom  he  had  never  so 
much  as  heard  and  of  trying  to  accustom  himself  to  a 
world  one  hundred  and  twenty-three  years  older  than  that 
into  which  he  had  been  born. 

His  reverie  was  disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  the  tailor, 
who  was  no  larger  than  the  man  who  had  fainted. 

‘'Truly/’  said  the  tailor,  surveying  Harold  with  aston- 
ishment, “truly  there  were  giants  in  those  days!  Were 
there  many  men  as  large  as  you?” 

“I  was  not  considered  very  large,”  replied  Harold. 
“My  father  was  taller  and  heavier.”  It  was  hard  for  Har- 
old to  use  the  past  tense,  but  he  now  thought  it  to  be  a 
necessity,  and  he  did  not  believe  in  fighting  the  inevitable. 

“My,  my,”  exclaimed  the  tailor,  “how  very  large  you 
are ! I have  been  obliged  to  get  my  own  living  ever  since 
my  wife  died.  I was  a tailor  before  she  married  me  and 
have  been  a tailor  ever  since  her  death,  but  I never  before 
took  measurements  like  these.  I’m  not  sure,  sir,  that  I 
can  find  a piece  of  cloth  large  enough  for  a whole  suit.” 
“Then  make  it  of  five  or  six  pieces,”  replied  Harold 
impatiently.  “Bring  me  anything  that  will  hide  my  naked- 
ness. I am  tired  of  lying  here.” 


72 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


“1  should  think  you  would  be,”  replied  the  tailor  feel- 
ingly. 

“Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  a girl  of  the  name  of 
Letty  Mays?”  asked  Harold  as  the  tailor  was  about  to 
leave. 

“Letty  Mays !”  repeated  the  tailor.  “I  never  heard  the 
name.  It  is  not  in  the  histories — oh,  yes,  it  is,  too ! She 
was  the  girl  to  whom  you  were  betrothed.  She  was  a 
rattle  brained — ” 

“Look  out!”  thundered  Harold,  raising  himself  in  bed. 
He  looked  fierce  enough  to  frighten  a man  of  his  own 
size,  and  the  tailor  rushed  from  the  room,  his  face  white 
with  fear. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  came  in  at  that  moment  to  bring  a his- 
tory for  Harold,  and  for  fully  two  minutes  they  looked  at 
each  other  without  flinching. 

“You  are  very  strong  for  a man,”  said  she  at  last. 

“You  are  as  strong  as  a man,”  replied  Harold. 

“Strong  as  a man  !”  Mrs.  Winthrop  smiled  contempt- 
uously. “We  will  not  pursue  that  subject,”  she  said.  “I 
simply  want  to  say  that  unless  you  show  yourself  a little 
more  tractable  I shall  be  obliged  to  have  you  examined 
for  insanity.” 

With  that  remark  she  left  the  room,  and  Harold  spent 
the  time  in  which  his  suit  was  being  made  in  reading  of 
the  events  of  his  day  as  recorded  in  the  history  and  in 
alternately  laughing  and  swearing  at  the  untruthfulness 
of  the  pictures  presented.  He  finished  the  book,  con- 
vinced that  he  had  really  slept  a hundred  years. 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


73 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Harold’s  suit  at  last  arrived,  his  first  thought  as 
he  surveyed  himself  before  the  glass  was  that  now  he  could 
go  down  into  the  dining  room  and  have  a good  square 
meal.  What  that  thought  was  to  him  can  only  be  imag- 
ined by  the  hungry  man  to  whom  the  delights  of  the  table 
are  supreme.  Since  Harold’s  awakening  he  had  been 
served  with  what  he  called  broth,  accompanied  with  nuts 
and  fruit  of  different  varieties.  He  supposed  it  was  served 
according  to  the  orders  of  a physician,  who  might  imagine 
that  it  was  necessary  for  his  stomach  to  get  used  to  work 
by  degrees  after  so  long  a period  of  idleness.  If  that  were 
so,  the  broth  and  fruit  might  seem  reasonable  enough  as 
a diet,  but  how  about  the  nuts? 

“Mrs.  Winthrop,”  he  said,  going  down  to  the  porch, 
where  that  lady  was  taking  her  morning  exercise,  “what 
is  your  dinner  hour?  And  is  the  room  that  my  mother 
selected  still  used  for  the  dining  room?”  , 

“Dining  room  ! What  can  you  mean?”  For  a moment 
Mrs.  Winthrop  looked  puzzled ; then  her  brow  suddenly 
cleared  as  she  exclaimed:  “Oh,  I remember  now ! I was 
reading  only  the  other  day  that  people  used  to  sit  around 
large  tables  and  watch  one  another  eat  all  manner  of  queer 
stuff  that  they  called  food.  They  must  have  resembled 
pigs  gathered  around  a trough.” 

“May  I ask,”  said  Harold,  striving  to  control  his  wrath, 
“how  you  manage  the  matter  of  eating  at  the  present 
time?” 

“To  be  sure.  You  have  been  nourished  since  your 
awakening,  have  you  not?” 


74 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


“I  have  been  given  a little  broth.” 

'‘Have  you  not  felt  sufficiently  nourished  ?” 

"I  have  not  suffered  with  hunger/’  admitted  Harold, 
who  suddenly  realized  that  he  had  not  felt  hunger  at  all, 
but  was  simply  uneasy  because  he  had  not  sat  at  a table 
and  filled  himself  with  food  as  he  had  done  in  the  good 
old  days  which  were  to  him  but  as  yesterday.  He  began 
to  have  an  awful  fear  that  he  had  slept  beyond  the  pleas- 
ures of  eating  at  a loaded  table  in  company  with  congenial 
friends.  Mrs.  Winthrop’s  next  words  confirmed  this  fear. 

"In  this  day,”  she  said,  "no  one  thinks  of  supplying  his 
system  with  necessary  fuel  in  public.  Each  takes  such 
nourishment  as  his  system  requires  whenever  it  is  most 
needed,  but  he  would  no  more  think  of  allowing  his  neigh- 
bor to  see  him  take  it  than  he  would  think  of  changing  his 
linen  in  public.” 

"I  fear  I have  much  to  learn,”  said  Harold,  "before  I 
shall  be  able  to  live  in  this  da — ahem,  beautiful  world.” 

"I  am  afraid  you  have,  sir,”  replied  Mrs.  Winthrop  se- 
verely. "There  is  an  old  woman  living  not  far  from  here 
who  might  help  you.  It  is  said  that  she  is  nearly  a hun- 
dred years  of  age,  and  that  she  has  a fine  memory.  She 
might  be  able  to  teach  you  the  difference  between  your 
yesterday  and  our  to-day  and  so  save  you  and  us  a great 
deal  of  embarrassment.” 

Harold  thought  the  idea  a good  one  and  decided  to 
go  to  this  old  woman  at  once.  It  was  barely  possible  that 
she  had  not  given  up  the  good  old  customs  for  the  out- 
rageous new  ones,  and  that  she  might  ask  him  to  stay  to 
dinner.  In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  he  had 
placed  himself  before  her. 

"So  you  are  the  sleeper?”  she  exclaimed.  "My,  my, 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


75 


how  young  you  look ! It  would  be  hard  for  any  one  to 
believe  that  you  are  thirty  years  older  than  1 am.” 

Harold  looked  at  the  thin  figure,  the  wrinkled  face  and 
the  toothless  mouth,  then  recalled  the  handsome  young 
fellow  he  had  seen  in  the  glass  only  that  morning  and 
decided  that  it  would  be  hard  indeed. 

“Well,”  she  said  when  he  had  made  known  his  errand, 
“what  do  you  most  want  to  know?”  , 

“How  do  people  manage  to  eat?”  he  asked.  “I’m  get- 
ting deucedly  hungry.  Don’t  you  know  of  a nice  place 
where  a fellow  can  get  roast  beef,  and  mince  pie,  and 
cranberry  jelly,  and  a good  cup  of  coffee,  and  a few  such 
trifles?”  Harold’s  mouth  watered  as  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion. He  felt  he  had  a great  deal  to  do  to  make  up  for 
all  the  good  things  of  life  which  he  had  lost  while 
sleeping. 

“My  dear  sir,”  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  placing  a re- 
straining hand  on  his  arm,  “I  beg  you  will  not  mention 
such  things  again.  It  makes  me  quite  faint.  Remember 
I am  not  so  young  as  I once  was.” 

“Are  you  hungry?”  asked  Harold  kindly.  He  could 
think  of  no  other  reason  why  any  one  should  become 
faint  from  hearing  such  things  as  roast  beef  and  **dnce 
pie  talked  about.  “Is  there  a restaurant  near?” 

“A  restaurant !”  The  old  lady  burst  into  a peal  of 
laughter.  “Oh,”  she  gasped,  “you  take  me  back  to  the 
days  of  my  childhood ! Oh,  it  is  so  funny ! Mary,  Mary, 
come  here  a moment !” 

A young  woman  entered  the  room  and  stood  beside  the 
old  lady’s  chair.  She  was  fully  six  feet  tall  and  must  have 
weighed  two  hundred  pounds,  yet  she  was  not  fleshy. 
Harold  thought  she  must  be  a female  prize  fighter  and 


76 


It  is  hard  to  believe  that  you  are  thirty  years  older  than  I am. 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


77 


wondered  if  the  old  lady  had  sent  for  her  for  protection . 

‘‘What  is  it,  grandma?"  she  asked  pleasantly. 

“This  young  man  wishes  to  be  directed  to  a restaurant. 
Now,  are  you  willing  to  believe  that  such  things  existed 
in  my  day?"  , 

“Oh,  sir,"  said  Mary,  turning  to  Harold,  “did  you  ever 
eat  before  any  one?" 

“I  did,"  replied  Harold,  “and  I should  like  to  do  it 
again.  I hoped  I might  at  least  get  a cup  of  coffee 
here." 

“I  used  to  eat  such  things  seventy  or  eighty  years  ago," 
said  the  old  lady,  “but  I shudder  now  to  think  of  it.  You 
will,  too,  when  you  become  used  to  the  new  way." 

“I  shudder  now  to  think  of  life  without  eating,"  replied 
Harold,  with  a feeble  smile.  “I  think,"  he  added,  “that 
I shall  not  be  successful  in  an  attempt  to  live  on  air  and 
water." 

“You  must  go  to  a physician  as  soon  as  possible,"  said 
the  old  lady.  “He  will  make  an  examination  and  tell  you 
what  chemical  elements  are  necessary  to  keep  your  system 
in  good  working  order.  He  will  also  tell  you  how  much 
of  each  should  be  taken  and  how  often.  On  every  corner 
you  will  see  shops  where  these  foods  are  for  sale.  Every 
one  prepares  them  for  one's  self,  and  no  one  thinks  of 
taking  his  neighbor  into  his  confidence  as  to  his  system’s 
demands.  Oh,  Mary,  think  how  folks  would  laugh  to 
hear  me  make  these  explanations !" 

The  old  lady  burst  into  another  peal  of  laughter,  which 
Harold  found  extremely  irritating.  He  did  not  smile. 
Neither  did  Mary,  and  for  a moment  he  felt  grateful  to 
her,  but  only  for  a moment. 

“I  think  such  innocence  is  charming,"  he  heard  Mary 


78 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


say  in  an  undertone  to  the  old  lady.  “Such  a beautiful 
boy  should  not  be  allowed  to  take  care  of  himself.  It 
isn't  safe.  I propose  to  take  care  of  him.  It  isn’t  con- 
ventional, I know,  but  hang  conventionalities !” 

“She  uses  slang  like  a man,”  thought  Harold.  “What 
next,  I wonder?” 

Harold  began  to  be  somewhat  alarmed.  Did  this 
amazon  propose  to  send  him  to  a lunatic  asylum?  He 
wondered  if  he  could  outrun  her  should  she  pursue  him. 
Before  he  had  decided  as  to  what  he  had  better  do  Mary 
came  to  his  side  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

“My  dear,”  she  said  tenderly,  “I  know  that  what  I am 
about  to  say  may  seem  a little  premature,  but  I am  ani- 
mated by  thoughts  of  your  welfare  as  well  as  my  own 
gratification.  Love  is  not  measured  by  hours,  but  by 
heart  throbs.  Should  I know  you  a hundred  years  I 
could  not  love  you  more  sincerely.  Will  you  be  mine? 
I promise  to  care  for  you  most  tenderly.” 

“You  promise  to — good  Lord,  deliver  us!  What  is 
the  woman  talking  about?” 

“I  know  this  must  seem  sudden  to  you.  You  have 
not  yet  learned  to  know  your  heart,  but  you  are  so  young 
and  inexperienced — at  least  so  inexperienced.  Don’t  you 
think  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  trust  your  happiness 
in  my  keeping?  Don’t  mind  grandma.  Indeed  her 
presence  should  assure  you  as  to  the  purity  of  my 
motives.” 

“It’s  a proposal !”  thought  Harold.  “As  sure  as  I live 
it  is  a proposal.” 

He  could  with  difficulty  restrain  his  laughter,  but  he 
remembered  that  she  was  a woman,  and  although 
ridiculously  eccentric  not  to  be  laughed  at.  He  wished 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


79 


he  might  think  of  some  easy  way  of  putting  her  off,  be- 
lieving that  one  so  weakminded  would  not  long  remem- 
ber having  mentioned  such  a subject. 

“Madam,”  he  said,  “suppose  you  try  to  forget” — 
“Does  that  mean  you  cannot  accept  my  love?”  asked 
Mary,  who  was  quite  infatuated  with  him. 

“I  am  afraid  it  does,”  replied  Harold,  struggling  with 
his  mirth.  In  all  his  life  he  had  never  had  so  funny  an 
experience. 

“And  you  can  laugh !”  exclaimed  Mary  reproachfully. 
“You  are  heartless,  absolutely  heartless.”  She  turned 
and  left  the  room  without  another  word,  and  Harold  in- 
dulged in  unrestrained  laughter  until  suddenly  made 
aware  that  the  old  lady  was  regarding  him  with  great 
seriousness. 

“It  would  have  been  better,”  she  said,  “if  you  had  been 
a little  more  manly.  You  might  at  least  have  offered  to 
be  a brother  to  her.  You  have  hurt  a very  warm  heart 
and  lost  a good  chance  to  marry.  Mary  could  have  re- 
lieved you  of  many  vexations.” 

The  old  lady’s  seriousness  irritated  Harold.  The  idea 
of  any  one  taking  such  a proposal  seriously  was  too 
preposterous  to  be  entertained  for  a moment.  He  con- 
cluded that  his  call  had  been  quite  long  enough,  and  that 
he  should  take  his  departure  as  soon  as  he  had  made  sure 
that  she  could  tell  him  nothing  more  about  dining. 

“Did  I understand  you  to  say,”  he  asked,  “that  no  one 
eats  anything  but  broth  and — ah,  air?” 

“I  said  nothing  about  eating  air.  There  are  nuts  and 
fruits.  They  are  produced  in  great  quantities,  and  grow- 
ers vie  with  each  other  in  starting  new  varieties.  And, 
by  the  way,  I must  warn  you  not  to  present  a basket  of 


80 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


fruit  to  any  one.  I mention  it,  remembering  that  in  your 
day  it  was  done  as  a mark  of  friendship  and  even  of  love. 
How  dreadfully  coarse  it  was ! In  this  day  it  would  be 
considered  as  insulting  as  the  presentation  of  a beef  roast 
would  have  been  a hundred  years  ago.” 

“May  I ask,”  said  Harold,  smiling  at  the  thought, 
“what  young  men  do  offer  the  ladies  of  their  affections?” 
“What  do  young  men — oh,  now  I see  why  you  laughed 
at  Mary!  No.  In  these  days,  my  dear  sir,  young  men 
offer  nothing.  It  would  be  considered  a mark  of  im- 
modesty. They  do  ,not  seek  ladies  in  marriage.  It 
would  be  highly  improper  for  them  to  show  any  affection 
until  the  lady  has  offered  them  some  encouragement.” 
“Am  I to  understand  that  women  now  do  the  love- 
making?” 

“Why,  to  be  sure !” 

“And  the  men  wait  to  be  courted?” 

“How  else  could  there  be  marriages?” 

Harold  stared  at  the  old  lady  for  fully  five  minutes  be- 
fore replying.  Such  a state  of  affairs  was  quite  beyond 
his  comprehension.  It  was  too  serious  to  be  laughable. 

“It  used  to  be  different,  I know,”  added  the  old  lady, 
“but  it  was  no  more  satisfactory.” 

“Wasn't  it,  though !”  exclaimed  Harold.  “Permit  me 
to  say  that  I do  not  agree  with  you.  But  let  us  not 
quarrel  on  that  subject.  At  present  I am  more  interested 
in  the  food  question  than  in  the  fact  that  women  have  a 
corner  on  the  business  of  lovemaking.  Can  you  tell  me 
why  the  change  was  made  in  regard  to  the  habit  of 
dining?” 

“Because  women  could  not  use  their  precious  time  in 
cooking,  setting  tables^  washing  dishes,  hemming  table 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


81 


linen  and  doing  the  thousand  and  one  other  tasks  which 
the  old  habit  of  dining  made  necessary.” 

“But  how  do  women  employ  themselves ?” 

“Keep  your  eyes  open  for  one  week,  my  dear  sir,  and 
you  will  not  need  to  ask.  Although  the  character  of  the 
work  has  changed,  there  is  still  plenty  to  do,  and,  as  you 
can  see,  men  amount  to  little  in  these  days.  That  is  my 
opinion  at  least,  and  I think  it  will  be  yours,  but  women 
do  not  seem  to  agree  with  me.  They  consider  me  very 
odd  for  not  attaching  myself  to  one  of  these  little  speci- 
mens of  humanity.  Ah,  they  did  not  live  in  the  days 
when  there  were  men  like  you !” 

“Why  are  all  the  men  so  small?”  asked  Harold  hastily. 
He  feared  another  proposal. 

“It  is  a natural  result  of  generations  of  dissipation. 
I have  been  told  that  in  1892  there  were  many  miniature 
specimens  of  masculinity  to  be  seen  on  the  streets,  but 
the  people  did  not  seem  to  realize  or  even  to  recognize  the 
danger  which  they  heralded.  There  was  an  occasional 
prophet  who  spoke  of  the  dangers  of  cigarette  smoking, 
for  instance,  but,  notwithstanding,  two-thirds  of  the  boys 
smoked  cigarettes  and  wondered  why  they  did  not  grow 
to  be  as  large  as  their  fathers.  Were  you  as  large  as  your 
father?” 

Harold  admitted  that  he  had  not  been,  and  that  it  had 
been  a source  of  regret  to  him. 

“Had  you  not  gone  to  sleep,”  continued  the  old  lady, 
“I  presume  you  would  not  have  been  so  good  or  so  much 
of  a man  in  any  way  as  your  father.  Men  indulged  in 
all  sorts  of  dissipations,  which  had  their  effect  both  men- 
tally and  morally.  As  they  became  less  manly  women 
became  more  so.  Women  took  ug  all  sorts  of  self  culture 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


and  became  man's  superior  in  every  way  long  before 
even  they  or  the  men  recognized  the  fact.  When  the 
awakening  came,  there  was  a revolution.  I think  in  your 
day  there  was  considerable  dissatisfaction  among  women, 
but  I am  not  sure.  Of  late  years  I have  been  a little 
doubtful  as  to  the  dates." 

“I  think  you  are  right,"  replied  Harold,  who  was  very 
much  interested  in  the  old  lady's  talk.  “We  had  the 
woman  suffragists  and  an  organization  called  the  W.  C. 
T.  U.  and  several  smaller  organizations  which  were  for 
the  purpose  of  training  men  to  know  right  from  wrong." 

“How  did  men  regard  them?" 

“They  laughed  at  first,  I believe.  Later  they  became 
more  indulgent." 

. “But  they  never  read  the  sign  by  the  wayside  even  then. 
Well,  these  societies  increased.  Women  became  more 
and  more  self  supporting  and  in  every  way  independent. 
Men  were  gradually  forced  to  the  wall  in  the  labor  market. 
In  1925  no  man  dared  to  ask  a woman  to  marry  him 
unless  he  knew  that  she  could  help  support  the  family, 
and  no  girl  would  have  thought  of  marrying  without 
having  first  learned  a trade,  for  they  placed  no  faith  in 
man's  ability  to  care  for  women.  Indeed  there  were  few 
marriages,  for  women  did  not  respect  men,  and  men  felt 
under  no  obligations  to  stay  with  a wife  when  they 
thought  they  could  live  easier  away  from  her.  Women 
refused  to  be  governed  by  those  whom  they  considered 
inferior  to  themselves,  and  finally  there  came  the  war  of 
the  revolution  between  the  sexes.  Men  should  have  seen 
from  the  first  what  must  have  been  the  result  of  the  war. 
They  had  become  weakened  by  generations  of  self  in- 
dulgence. Women  had  grown  more  powerful,  and  theirs 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


83 


was  not  a difficult  victory.  After  the  war  men  found 
themselves  obliged  to  sue  for  woman’s  favor  as  women 
had  once  sued  for  theirs.  Women  had  little  respect  for 
them,  and  for  a long  time  man’s  position  was  not  much 
superior  to  that  of  slavery.  They  rapidly  lost  what  little 
power  of  independent  thought  they  had  kept  through 
their  years  of  dissipation  and  soon  became  what  you  see 
them  now — worse,  in  fact,  for  of  late  years  there  seems  to 
be  an  uneasiness  among  a few  of  them,  corresponding  to 
the  uneasiness  shown  by  a few  women  in  your  day.” 

“Did  you  know  Letty  Mays?”  asked  Harold,  who  was 
reminded  of  his  old  love  by  the  mention  of  the  women  of 
his  day. 

“Oh,  yes.  She  was  a middle  aged  woman  when  I was 
a little  girl.  I went  with  her  several  times  to  see  you  as 
you  slept,  and  she  told  me  a great  deal  about  you.  She 
did  not  marry  until  quite  late  in  life.  She  left  one  son. 
His  name  was  Harold  Winthrop  Everett.  He  married 
a young  woman  when  he  was  past  60  years  of  age  and 
left  a daughter,  whom  he  named  Letty  Mays,  after  her 
grandmother.  Letty  lives  alone  in  the  house  where  you 
used  to  court  her  grandmother.  She  is  twenty-six  years 
old  now  and  is  considered  rather  peculiar,  I believe.  For 
my  part,  I like  her.” 

“In  what  way  does  she  show  her  peculiarity?”  asked 
Harold. 

“Oh,  she  doesn’t  like  men  very  well.  She  never  takes 
a man  anywhere.  She  declares  that  she  will  not  marry 
until  she  finds  a man  as  smart  as  herself,  and  she  talks  so 
much  about  equality  between  the  sexes  that  she  is  making 
many  men  quite  uneasy.  She  has  quite  a following 
among  the  men  whose  wives  do  not  treat  them  well.  Once 


84 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


she  said  that  she  was  waiting  for  Harold  Winthrop  to 
awaken  that  she  might  propose  to  him.  Of  course,  sir, 
you  will  understand  that  she  was  joking,  not  believing 
that  you  would  ever  awaken.” 

“I  understand,”  replied  Harold,  “but  let  me  tell  you 
this:  When  I marry,  it  will  not  be  to  a woman  who 

makes  love  to  me.  I reserve  the  little  pleasure  of  popping 
the  question  as  my  exclusive  right.” 

“Oh,  nonsense !”  replied  the  old  lady  playfully.  “I’ve 
heard  young  men  talk  before.  When  the  right  girl  asks 
you  to  marry  her,  you’ll  assent  without  a word  of  pro- 
test.” 

Somewhat  tired  with  his  long  conversation  with  the  old 
lady,  Harold  decided  to  rest  himself  by  calling  on  Miss 
Letty  Mays  Everett.  He  hoped  that  he  might  find  a 
little  pleasure  such  as  he  used  to  enjoy,  in  getting  up  a 
mild  flirtation  with  the  granddaughter  of  his  old  love. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Miss  Letty  Mays  Everett  had  read  many  charming  ro- 
mances of  that  period  of  the  world’s  existence  when  man 
was  physically  if  not  mentally  and  morally  woman’s  su- 
perior. They  had  made  a strong  impression  on  her 
mind.  She  told  herself  that  it  would  be  quite  possible 
to  propose  to  such  a man  as  that — some  one  who  could 
fight  for  her,  work  for  her  or  die  for  her  if  necessary.  She 
could  not  quite  understand  how  any  man  could  be  so 
venturesome  as  to  make  the  proposal  himself,  as  in  the 
romances  he  was  represented  as  doing,  unless  he  were 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


85 


quite  devoid  of  the  finer  sensibilities.  So  she  constructed 
her  ideal  hero  on  a plan  quite  as  impossible  as  such  per- 
sonages are  usually  constructed.  He  was  nineteenth  cen- 
tury in  all  that  had  appealed  to  her  imagination  and  twen- 
tieth century  in  everything  else. 

The  romances  that  Letty  enjoyed  so  much  were  consid- 
ered quite  too  improbable  by  the  scholars  of  her  day  to  be 
classed  with  the  healthful  literature.  They  were  piled 
side  by  side  in  the  public  libraries  with  rusty  mythologies 
and  with  histories  of  the  earlier  centuries,  where  the  dust 
settled  thickly  upon  them.  They  were  owned  by  a very 
few,  who  were  not  even  so  much  as  envied  their  posses- 
sion. Many  of  the  volumes  which  Letty  had  read  had 
been  handed  down  since  the  days  of  her  grandmother’s 
father. 

Letty’s  friends  strongly  disapproved  of  her  reading 
such  stuff.  They  said  she  might  have  been  quite  a sens- 
ible woman  had  it  not  been  for  her  books.  They  also  dis- 
approved of  her  frequent  visits  to-  the  old  woman,  the 
“Liveforever,”  as  she  was  called.  They  knew  that  Letty 
went  to  her  simply  to  hear  the  stories  she  had  to  tell  of 
the  days  before  the  revolution  of  the  sexes.  No  one  else 
believed  so  implicitly  in  the  stories  of  men  as  the  old 
woman  told  them,  and  every  one  thought  Letty  might 
better  spend  her  time  in  trying  to  solve  the  problems  of 
the  day  as  they  were  presented  before  her. 

Something — it  might  have  been  the  reading;  it  might 
have  been  an  inheritance  from  an  oversentimental  grand- 
mother, whose  heart  had  been  divided  between  her  hus- 
band and  her  sleeping  lover — something  had  made  Letty 
very  different  from  the  women  of  her  day.  She  wanted  a 
husband  who  would  be  a companion,  not  a pretty  little 


86 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


fellow  whom  she  could  caress  and  indulge  and  dress 
prettily  and  boast  of  when  at  her  club  with  other  women. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  it  ought  not  to  be  unreasonable 
to  expect  a man  to  be  as  intelligent  as  herself. 

Her  friends  were  alarmed  when  they  heard  her  make 
such  statements.  They  said  that  if  her  ideas  obtained  so- 
ciety would  be  overturned  and  the  home  life  destroyed ; 
that  men  would  become  unsexed;  that  women  would  be 
crowded  out  of  the  labor  market  and  could  no  longer  sup- 
port themselves  and  their  families  ; that,  in  fact,  they  could 
not  take  time  to  have  families,  for  wages  would  be  so  low 
that  they  would  be  obliged  to  work  throughout  the  year. 
Some  of  the  objectors  went  so  far  as  to  teach  that  if  men 
were  allowed  equal  suffrage  there  would  be  a revival  of 
the  whisky  trade  which  flourished  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, and  that  families  could  no  longer  be  regulated  as  to 
number  by  a woman's  ability  to  provide  for  her  children. 
The  well  read  offered  as  proof  of  their  arguments  the  his- 
torical fact  that  many  charitable  institutions  had  been 
organized  during  the  days  of  man's  supremacy  to  care  for 
the  children  who  came  into  the  world  when  there  were  no 
means  for  their  support,  and  that  every  county  had  a place 
of  detention  called  a jail,  where  they  were  cared  for  who 
should  never  have  been  born,  but  who  had  grown  to  man- 
hood as  best  they  could  in  a world  where  they  were  worse 
than  parasites.  There  were  few  intelligent  women  in  the 
twentieth  century  who  could  be  made  to  believe  that  men 
were  capable  of  exercising  the  moral  self  control  sug- 
gested by  Malthus  as  a needful  check  to  meet  the  growing 
danger  of  overpopulation,  and  for  that  reason  more  than 
for  any  other  the  doctrine  of  man’s  suffrage  made  little 
headway.  It  might  have  died  had  it  not  been  for  Miss 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


87 


Letty’s  curious  desire  to  find  a husband  who  should  also 
be  a companion,  and  for  her  belief,  formed  from  much 
thought  on  the  subject,  that  only  in  perfect  equality  could 
be  found  the  relation  which  the  Omnipotent  meant  should 
exist  between  the  sexes. 

“Such  talk  is  wild,”  said  her  friends.  “There  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  perfect  equality  between  the  sexes.  The 
world  is  used  to  the  existing  order  of  things ; we  are  com- 
fortable ; men  are  happy  or  ought  to  be,  for  we  do  every- 
thing to  make  them  so — let  well  enough  alone.” 

But  still  Letty  clung  to  her  ideals,  and  every  year  the 
number  of  men  made  dissatisfied  by  her  glowing  repre- 
sentations of  a future  in  which  they  should  stand  side  by 
side  with  women  was  slowly  but  steadily  increasing. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  Harold  to  find  the  house  where 
Letty  lived.  How  often  he  had  been  there  in  the  good 
old  days  when  Letty’s  grandmother  was  to  him  the  most 
attractive  girl  in  the  world ! The  house  was  small  com- 
pared with  the  more  modern  structures  which  towered 
beside  it ; yet  it,  like  the  Winthrop  residence,  had  been 
considered  fine  in  his  day.  Now  they  were  looked  upon 
as  unsightly  nuisances  which  should  have  been  torn 
down  long  ago  and  would  have  been  had  it  not  been  for 
an  untiring  sleeper  and  a sentimental  young  woman. 

When  Harold  paused  at  the  gate,  he  saw  a woman 
sitting  on  the  porch  in  the  very  place  where  his  old  love 
had  so  often  waited  for  him.  She  glanced  up  and  their 
eyes  met.  They  were  Letty  May’s  eyes — deep  blue, 
steadfast,  tender,  beautiful.  The  mouth  and  chin  were 
Letty’s,  too  ; but  Letty  had  been  small  and  sylphlike, 
while  this  lady  was  tall  and  magnificently  proportioned, 
like  most  of  the  women  he  had  seen  since  awakening. 


88 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


Letty’s  face  had  been  as  dimpled  and  full  of  wonder  as  a 
baby’s;  it  had  indicated  a , spirit  of  loving  dependence 
which  Harold  had  thought  charming.  This  woman’s 
face  was  strong  and  resolute.  She  looked  like  one 
accustomed  to  being  obeyed,  not  because  she  was  a 
woman,  but  because  her  commands  were  reasonable. 
Harold  had  never  liked  such  women.  A feeling  of  an- 
tagonism arose  in  his  heart,  which  would  have  driven 
him  past  her  door  had  she  been  any  one  else,  but  she 
was  the  granddaughter  of  his  old  love,  and  sentiment  and 
loneliness  urged  him  to  make  her  acquaintance.  As  he 
opened  the  gate  Miss  Everett  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

“Pardon  me,”  she  said,  with  a smile,  “but  am  I not 
speaking  to  Harold  Winthrop?” 

“That  is  my  name,”  replied  Harold,  “and  you  are  Miss 
Everett,  I think.” 

“I  am  Miss  Everett,  at  your  service.  We  know  each 
other,  so  why  should  we  not  dispense  with  ceremony  and 
consider  ourselves  old  acquaintances?” 

In  her  heart  Miss  Letty  was  thinking  that  this  young 
man  had  in  reality  very  little  regard  for  ceremony  to  seek 
her  thus  without  having  been  encouraged,  but  she  was 
too  much  of  a lady  to  wish  to  subject  him  to  any  humilia- 
tion and  so  chose  to  speak  as  if  she  were  the  transgressor, 
not  he. 

Had  her  words  been  spoken  with  the  frankness  of  un- 
restrained girlhood  or  the  shyness  of  maidenly  modesty 
Harold  would  have  been  charmed,  but  it  was  said  exactly 
in  the  same  way  in  which  he  had  meant  to  speak  to  her, 
and  he  was  disgusted.  And  the  words  were  accompanied 
with  an  expression  which,  Harold  thought,  would  have 
made  the  professional  heart  smasher  among  men  quite 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


89 


green  with  envy.  In  his  day  Harold  had  prided  himself 
on  being  something  of  a lady  killer  himself,  but  a man 
killer  was  different ! Harold  remembered  the  scene  with 
Mary  and  wished  he  had  not  come.  To  his  mind  there 
was  nothing  more  disagreeable  than  being  made  love  to 
by  a woman. 

Letty  had  extended  her  hand  to  assist  Harold  up  the 
steps,  as  she  would  have  done  had  he  been  any  other  man, 
but  when  he,  as  she  thought,  quite  rudely  ignored  her 
proffered  assistance  her  assurance  left  her  to  a certain 
extent,  and  she  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  next  best  thing  to 
do.  She  was  extremely  anxious  to  propitiate  the  hand- 
some guest,  who  evidently  felt  himself  aggrieved  about 
something.  Letty  would  have  given  considerable  ,to 
know  how  she  had  offended,  for  her  heart  was  stirred  for 
the  first  time.  She  felt  that  at  last  she  had  seen  a man 
who  was  worth  the  price  of  her  freedom. 

“Why,”  she  thought,  “he  is  quite  as  tall  as  myself,  and 
he  looks  as  if  he  might  be  as  strong.  If  he  is  as  nearly 
equal  in  other  respects,  how  companionable  he  might  be !” 

Letty  would  have  been  surprised  could  she  have  known 
that  his  opinion  of  her  was  far  less  flattering.  She  was 
used  to  being  made  much  of  by  the  opposite  sex  and 
could  count  by  scores  the  men  who,  she  was  sure,  would 
have  been  glad  to  accept  the  protection  which  she  could 
give  to  one  whom  she  loved. 

“I  have  no  good  excuse  to  offer  for  this  intrusion,” 
began  Harold. 

“I  beg,  sir,”  interrupted  the  lady,  “that  you  will  not 
mention  it.  I assure  you  that  I feel  most  honored  by 
your  presence  in  my  house.” 

A period  of  silent  awkwardness  followed,  during  which 


90 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


each  was  waiting  for  the  other  to  be  seated,  for  in  that 
day  it  was  considered  a mark  of  impoliteness  for  the 
lady  to  seat  herself  while  a gentleman  remained  standing. 
Harold  finally  recalled  a portion  of  his  conversation  with 
the  old  woman,  who  had  used  this  fact  to  prove  that  the 
existing  state  of  affairs  had  begun  in  his  day  and  had 
clinched  her  argument  by  reminding  him  that  without 
doubt  he  had  known  many  men  who  declined  to  give  up 
their  seat  in  a railway  or  street  car  when  ladies  were 
standing.  Harold  settled  matters  by  dropping  into  the 
proffered  chair.  He  had  kept  his  hat  on,  remembering 
that  the  old  lady  had  said  that  twentieth  century  men 
always  wore  their  hats  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  He  re- 
called the  objections  made  by  many  men  in  his  day  to 
removing  their  hats  when  riding  in  an  elevator  with  a 
lady,  and  he  wondered  if  that,  too,  could  have  been  con- 
sidered a sign  of  approaching  effeminacy  of  men  and  if 
it  would  have  made  any  difference  could  they  have  seen 
into  the  future  a hundred  years. 

“Now,”  he  thought,  “I  am  ready  to  make  a call, 
twentieth  century  fashion !”  Harold  had  always  prided 
himself  on  his  ability  to  adjust  himself  to  circumstances. 
He  made  some  inconsequential  remark  about  the  weather, 
asked  about  the  latest  opera  and  looked  so  self  satisfied 
that  Letty  was  quite  disgusted. 

“I  wonder  if  all  men  in  his  day  were  so  assured  of  their 
own  winsomeness,”  she  thought. 

To  have  pleased  her  he  should  have  been  charming 
without  appearing  to  know  that  he  was  so.  Instead  of 
trying  to  entertain  her  he  should  have  waited  to  be  enter- 
tained. Or  if  he  were  bent  upon  being  entertaining  he 
should  have  shown  his  ability  to  talk  about  something  of 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


91 


interest  instead  of  wearying  her  with  weak,  remarks  about 
the  weather  and  the  latest  opera.  The  ideal  of  the  perfect 
man  which  Letty  had  in  mind  was  not  worked  out  as  to 
details,  and  it  was  not  easy  for  her  to  say  in  which  of  the 
more  common  characteristics  she  would  have  him  differ- 
ent from  the  men  of  her  acquaintance.  Of  one  thing  she 
was  sure,  however,  and  that  was  that  Harold  should  have 
blushed  or  in  some  other  charming  manner  have  shown 
his  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  he  had  overstepped  the 
bounds  of  conventionality,  and  that  she  was  better  than 
most  women  would  be  not  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact 
and  be  a little  insulting.  Letty  believed  that  a pretty  man 
had  no  business  to  have  unattractive  manners.  What  else 
were  men  good  for  but  to  make  themselves  attractive  to 
women?  She  concluded  that  if  all  the  men  of  his  day 
were  like  Harold  Winthrop  she  did  not  wonder  that  the 
war  of  the  revolution  between  the  sexes  had  taken  place. 
She  decided  to  punish  him  for  his  brazen  effrontery  by 
treating  him  with  no  more  respect  than  she  would  have 
accorded  another  woman,  and  thus  it  happened  that  she 
and  Harold  were  enabled  to  get  on  quite  comfortably  to- 
gether. Their  talk  was  mostly  of  the  differences  which 
Harold  noted  in  the  city  during  the  last  hundred  years, 
and  he  made  himself  very  entertaining  by  describing  the 
streets  as  he  remembered  them.  It  was  not  until  he  arose 
to  leave  that  the  difference  in  customs  was  touched  upon. 
Then  he  precipitated  the  discussion  by  asking  if  he  might 
not  call  again  very  soon. 

Letty  looked  embarrassed.  It  was  not  easy  for  her  to 
tell  this  handsome  young  man  that  he  was  in  danger  of 
getting  himself  talked  about  most  unpleasantly,  but  she 
had  almost  resolved  to  ask  him  to  be  her  husband  should 


92 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


she  succeed  in  making  him  a little  more  conventional, 
and  she  did  not  like  the  thought  that  he  might  become 
an  object  of  unpleasant  comment  among  other  women. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  under  the  circumstances  there  was 
but  one  course  for  her  to  pursue. 

“My  dear  young  man/’  she  said,  with  tender  gravity, 
“don’t  you  know  that  it  will  not  do  for  you  to  call  on 
women  in  this  way?  You  would  be  criticised  most  un- 
kindly. Tell  me  instead  when  you  will  be  at  home  that 
I may  call  upon  you — that  is,  if  you  will  grant  me  that 
pleasure.” 

“Grant  you  the  infernal — I beg  your  pardon,  madam! 
I am  not  a profane  man  by  nature,  but  such  nonsense 
would  wring  an  oath  from  the  lips  of  the  Angel  Gabriel.” 
“Such  nonsense !”  repeated  Letty.  “Surely,  my  dear 
young  man,  you  must  have  misunderstood” — 

“Did  you  not  propose  to  call  on  me  at  my  house?” 
interrupted  Harold,  who  in  his  disgust  had  quite  for- 
gotten that  he  was  not  living  in  the  century  in  which  he 
was  born. 

“I  did.  Is  it  so  distasteful  to  you” — 

“Distasteful?  Why,  hang  it  all,  don’t  you  see  that  I 
could  not  permit  you  to  do  a thing  like  that?” 

“I  must  admit,”  replied  Letty  stiffly,  “that  I do  not  see. 
I should  be  pleased  to  hear  your  explanation.” 

“Why,  there’d  be  no  end  of  talk  among  the  gossips,  and 
if  the  fellows  should  get  hold  of  it  I’d  be  chaffed  clean  out 
of  my  wits.  My  dear  child,  believe  me,  you  mustn’t  think 
of  doing  such  a thing,” 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


93 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  all  her  life  Letty  had  not  heard  such  language  as  this 
from  the  lips  of  a young  man.  She  was  inexpressibly 
shocked,  yet  withal  she  was  interested.  It  was  quite  de- 
lightful, she  told  herself,  to  meet  one  so  very  unconven- 
tional, but  she  did  not  care  to  be  seen  in  his  company  by 
other  men  whose  good  opinion  she  might  one  day  wish  to 
win.  Although  she  had  longed  all  her  life  to  meet  a man 
different  from  the  men  of  her  acquaintance,  now  that  she 
stood  face  to  face  with  him  she  wished  him  to  be  properly 
conventional. 

Harold  had  not  finished  speaking  when  he  suddenly 
realized  that  this  was  the  twentieth  century,  and  that  the 
world  had  changed  while  he  slept. 

“Do  you  mean  to  say,”  he  demanded,  with  a sudden 
change  of  tone  that  was  almost  ludicrous,  "that  it  is  the 
custom  in  this  enlightened  community  for  ladies  to  call 
upon  gentlemen?” 

"I  most  certainly  do,”  replied  Letty. 

"Well,”  returned  Harold  after  a little  period  of  silence, 
"I  think  if  we  are  to  be  friends” — - 

"As  we  should  for  grandma's  sake,”  eagerly  interposed 
Letty,  who  was  so  anxious  to  continue  the  acquaintance 
that  she  did  not  think  how  her  remark  might  be  taken 
until  it  had  escaped  her  lips. 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow,”  she  added  quickly,  "I  beg  your 
pardon,  I’m  sure !” 

Letty  was  consumed  with  mortification.  She  had  al- 
ways been  careful  not  to  remind  any  man  that  he  was 
growing  older  every  year  and  consequently  less  attractive, 
and  it  was  exasperating  that  she  should  now  have  been  so 


94 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


thoughtless  as  to  remind  this  beautiful  young  fellow  that 
he  had  been  the  recipient  of  her  grandmother’s  loverlike 
attentions.  As  will  be  seen,  Letty  did  not  quite  under- 
stand the  courtships  of  the  nineteenth  century — perhaps 
because  a number  of  the  books  which  her  grandmother 
had  left  her  had  been  written  by  Howells. 

Harold  was  far  from  being  pleased.  It  is  never 
pleasant  to  be  reminded,  more  especially  by  a handsome 
young  woman,  that  one  belongs  to  a past  century.  Letty 
could  not  but  perceive  that  he  was  hurt. 

“What  can  I say?”  she  asked,  distressed  beyond  meas- 
ure at  his  silence.  As  she  spoke  she  went  to  his  side  and 
tenderly  took  his  hand  in  hers.  Her  touch  thrilled  him, 
while  it  angered  him,  and  he  pulled  his  hand  away,  quite 
as  a grieved  young  girl  might  have  done  in  his  day.  The 
action  reminded  Letty  of  previous  flirtations,  and  she  be- 
gan to  feel  more  at  home  with  him.  She  quickly  decided 
that,  after  all,  young  men  were  all  very  much  alike,  and 
that  there  was  none  of  them  who  could  not  be  won  by  the 
lucky  young  woman  who  knew  how  to  work  upon  their 
susceptibilities.  She  was  congratulating  herself  on  the 
pleasure  she  would  have  in  a flirtation  with  this  coquettish 
young  fellow  when  her  dream  was  rudely  shattered  by  the 
look  of  determination  on  Harold’s  face  as  he  arose  and 
stood  before  her. 

“Miss  Everett,”  he  said  frankly,  “I  should  like  to  be- 
come better  acquainted  with  you,  but  I cannot  sacrifice 
all  my  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things  to  the  absurd  customs 
of  this  generation.” 

“Are  our  customs  more  absurd  than  yours  were?”  asked 
Letty. 

“They  seem  so  to  me.” 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE.  95 

“May  that  not  be  because  you  are  not  used  to  them?” 

“Perhaps  so.  However,  I do  not  mean  to  conform  to 
them  in  any  way  that  seems  to  me  to  reflect  on  my  mam 
hood.” 

“But  they  are  established” — 

“I  cannot  help  that.  I assure  you  I would  if  I could. 
As  I said  just  now,  I should  like  to  know  you  better. 
Can  we  not  strike  a compromise  that  shall  enable  us  to 
become  friends?” 

“We  might  try.  I should  feel  flattered,  Pm  sure.” 

“Suppose,  then,  we  agree  to  meet  in  the  park  and  dis- 
pense with  calling  and  a few  other  of  the  restrictions  of 
society  conventionalities?  I will  try  to  forget  the  customs 
of  the  nineteenth  century  if  you’ll  ignore  those  of  the 
twentieth,  and  we  will  be  as  free  as  the  birds.” 

Letty  agreed,  thinking  that  if  this  peculiar  young  man 
could  afford  to  run  such  a risk  she  certainly  could.  She 
comforted  her  uneasy  conscience  with  the  thought  that 
no  eligible  young  woman  was  severely  condemned  for 
sowing  a few  wild  oats  unless  the  results  were  too  rank  to 
be  overlooked  by  a most  indulgent  public. 

Harold  was  about  to  bow  himself  from  Letty’s  presence 
when  he  caught  sight  of  a woman  striding  down  the 
street. 

“Why,”  he  exclaimed,  with  a merry  laugh,  “I  believe 
that  is  my  friend  Mary.  She  is  an  odd  specimen  of  hu- 
manity, isn’t  she?” 

“May  I ask  what  you  know  about  her?”  inquired  Letty. 

“Only  that  she  proposed  to  me  on  sight” — - 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  There  was  a sudden 
loud  report,  which  seemed  to  break  the  world  into  bits, 
and  a stunning  blow  which  pounded  it  together  again. 


96 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


For  a moment  Harold  felt  himself  to  be  the  embodiment 
of  confusion  in  a world  of  darkness  lighted  only  by  stars 
which  danced  madly  before  his  eyes.  There  was  a sound 
of  excited  voices,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  stars. 
Then  came  an  interval  of  blessed  quiet,  when  he  was 
conscious  of  neither  light  nor  darkness — when  there  was 
no  world  and  nothing  in  it. 

Harold  was  unconscious  but  a moment.  When  he  re- 
covered, he  found  himself  lying  at  full  length  on  the  porch, 
with  Letty  bending  over  him. 

“Are  you  better ?”  she  asked  tenderly. 

“What  is  the  matter?  Have  I been  shot?” 

“You  came  near  being.  I saw  your  danger  just  in  time 
to  knock  you  down.  The  bullet  passed  above  you  as  you 
fell.” 

“You  knocked  me  down!” 

“I  did.  I could  have  saved  you  in  no  other  way.” 

“I  think,”  replied  Harold,  with  a smile,  “that  I might  as 
well  have  been  shot.” 

As  he  spoke  he  started  to  raise  himself  from  his  re- 
cumbent position,  but  in  a moment  Letty  had  lifted  him  to 
his  feet  and  placed  him  in  a chair. 

“Why  did  you  do  that?”  he  asked  angrily.  “I  have  not 
yet  become  so  helpless  that  I must  be  lifted  by  a woman.” 

Before  Letty  could  explain  that  she  had  only  done 
what  custom  demanded  of  a woman  Harold’s  attention 
was  drawn  to  Mary,  who  was  struggling  to  free  herself 
from  the  hold  of  several  stalwart  women,  who  were  en- 
deavoring to  secure  her  by  means  of  cords. 

“I  have  had  her  arrested,”  said  Letty,  following  his 
glance. 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


97 


“What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her?”  asked  Harold 
of  the  women. 

“We  are  waiting  for  the  ambulance,”  they  replied. 
“She  will  soon  be  placed  where  she  can  make  no  more 
disturbance.” 

“It  was  she  who  fired  at  you,”  explained  Letty.  “Poor 
Mary ! She  has  a good  heart,  but  a violent  temper.” 

“Let  Mary  go  free,”  interrupted  Harold.  “You  need 
not  arrest  her  on  my  account.  I can  take  care  of  myself.” 
“Ah,  my  dear  sir,”  they  replied,  “you  do  not  know  the 
world  as  we  do.’y 

“And  I don’t  want  to,”  retorted  Harold.  “Release 
Mary,  I say,  or  you’ll  be  sorry!” 

“We  might  as  well  do  as  he  requests,”  said  Letty  to  the 
women,  much  as  if  he  had  been  a persistent  child,  too  at- 
tractive to  be  denied  that  which  he  desired. 

Mary  was  released,  and  Harold  turned  abruptly  away, 
wishing  that  he  had  never  awakened.  He  hated  to  live 
in  a world  ruled  by  women,  and  he  wondered  if  there  were 
any  new  inventions  in  the  methods  of  committing  suicide 
which  were  superior  to  those  of  his  day.  He  had  not 
walked  far  when  he  was  overtaken  by  Mary. 

“Why  did  you  make  them  release  me?”  she  asked 
abruptly. 

“Because  I did  not  want  you  arrested  on  my  account.” 
“But  I tried  to  kill  you.” 

“I  wish  you  had  succeeded.” 

“Are  you  so  very  unhappy?” 

“I  am  hungry  and  homesick  and  utterly  disgusted.” 
“Have  you  been  to  a physician?” 

“No.” 

“A  good  one  lives  here.  Hadn’t  you  better  go  in?” 


98 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


“It  is  all  nonsense.  I want  food,  not  medicine.” 

“You  will  find  that  it  is  food.  Don’t  pass  the  door. 
You  must  go  in  sooner  or  later,  you  know.  You  will  feel 
better  when  your  system  has  been  replenished.” 

“I  presume  you  are  right.  Well,  I’ll  go.” 

Harold  turned  to  go  up  the  steps  of  a fine  house  bearing 
the  sign:  “E.  A.  Coburn,  M.  D.  Food  prescriptions  a 
specialty.” 

“Over  the  way,”  said  Mary,  interrupting  him,  “in  that 
store  with  the  sign  ‘System  Supplies’  across  the  front,  you 
will  be  able  to  purchase  what  you  want.  It  is  the  best 
place  in  the  city.  They  do  not  adulterate  their  com- 
pounds.” 

“Thanks,”  said  Harold.  “You  are  the  first  one  who 
has  given  me  any  practical  information.” 

“I  hope,”  faltered  Mary,  “that  you  will  not  think  me 
unwomanly  for  mentioning  these  things.” 

“Unwomanly!  Why  should  I think  that?” 

“Most  men  object  to  having  women  speak  of  such 
things.  They  prefer  to  have  us  think  that  they  are  too 
angelic  to  require  system  supplies.” 

“They  must  be  like  some  women  I used  to  know,”  re- 
plied Harold,  with  a laugh.  “Well,  good  night,  Mary.” 
Harold  ran  lightly  up  the  stone  steps,  but  before  he  had 
touched  the  bell  he  was  again  detained  by  Mary.  “Har- 
old,” she  said  softly,  “did  you  interfere  in  my  behalf 
because  you  have  decided  to  love  me  a little?” 

“Don’t  be  so  silly!”  exclaimed  Harold  in  disgust.  “I 
was  just  beginning  to  think  you  quite  a jolly  girl.  Why 
must  you  spoil  it  all?” 

“I  understand,”  replied  Mary  bitterly.  “You  have 
given  your  heart  to  Letty,  but  she  will  never  care  for  you 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


99 


half  as  tenderly  as  I could.  There  is  no  tenderness  in  her 

nature.” 

Harold  had  touched  the  bell,  and  Mary  had  not  finished 
speaking  when  the  door  opened,  and  Harold  was  invited 
to  walk  into  the  doctor's  office.  On  entering  he  was  dis- 
gusted to  find  that  E.  A.  Coburn  was  a lady. 

“I  beg  pardon,”  he  said,  “but  I think  there  must  be 
some  mistake.  I expected  to  find  a man  doctor.” 

“There  are  no  men  practicing  medicine  in  this  city,” 
replied  E.  A.  Coburn.  “Indeed  I do  not  know  of  but  one 
man  doctor  in  the  world,  and  he  is  a quack.  He  could 
not  be  otherwise,  you  know,  for  he  was  allowed  to  attend 
no  medical  college  of  any  note.” 

“Do  you  mean  to  say  that  women  prescribe  for  men?” 
“Why  not?  When  a man  is  sick,  he  wants  the  best 
medical  assistance  to  be  obtained.  Men  are  not  either 
mentally  or  physically  strong  enough  to  become  doctors. 
Neither  have  they  the  requisite  patience.  Worse  yet, 
their  love  of  money  would  lead  them  to  ply  their  pro- 
fession with  other  than  humanitarian  motives.” 

“Notwithstanding,”  replied  Harold,  “a  feeling  of 
delicacy  leads  me  to  prefer  a man.  However,  if  there  is 
no  man  to  be  had,  I suppose  I must  yield  to  the  inevitable 
as  gracefully  as  may  be.” 

Dr.  Coburn  not  only  prescribed  for  Harold,  but  ad- 
ministered some  of  the  food  which  she  thought  his  system 
demanded  most  urgently,  and  when  he  left  the  office  he 
felt  that  life  was  much  better  worth  living.  He  had  at 
last  found  one  change  in  the  twentieth  century  which  met 
with  his  hearty  approval — Dr.  Coburn  refused  to  take  the 
fee  he  offered,  saying  that  it  would  be  considered  a bribe, 


100 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


and  that  the  salary  paid  by  government  was  quite  re- 
munerative enough  to  meet  her  needs. 

When  Harold  reached  his  own  door,  he  chanced  to 
glance  back  just  in  time  to  see  two  figures,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  street,  disappearing  into  the  shadows.  He  at 
once  surmised  that  he  had  been  followed  by  Mary,  who 
in  turn  had  been  followed  by  Letty. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Several  weeks  had  passed  since  Harold's  proposition 
to  meet  Letty  in  the  park  had  been  made  and  accepted, 
and  the  two  had  become  more  and  more  deeply  interested 
in  each  other.  In  fact,  the  time  had  come  when  each  felt 
that  matters  might  as  well  be  settled  between  them  at 
once,  and  one  fine  morning  each  started  for  the  park  with 
the  firm  determination  to  make  a proposal  of  marriage 
that  very  fine  day.  Both  were  strangely  excited,  for 
neither  felt  sure  of  the  sentiments  of  the  other.  They  had 
succeeded  very  well  in  ignoring  customs  and  convention- 
alities, and  their  relationship  during  these  weeks  had  been 
much  like  that  which  might  exist  between  two  men  or 
two  women  who  understood  each  other,  and  who  were 
thrown  together  in  a strange  land  where  no  one  under- 
stood them. 

It  was  like  that,  with  one  little  exception — the  differ- 
ence in  the  influence  which  love  exerts  on  two  whom 
nature  intended  for  companions.  Indeed  convention- 
alities had  been  so  entirely  forgotten  that  neither  Harold 
nor  Letty  thought  that  the  other  might  claim  the  right 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


101 


of  proposal,  but  each  acted  according  to  the  promptings 
of  the  heart.  It  was  not  until  they  attempted  to  put  their 
thoughts  into  words  that  conventional  difficulties  arose 
to  make  trouble  between  them. 

“My  darling,”  began  Harold  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight 
of  Letty. 

“Little  sweetheart,”  rapturously  exclaimed  Letty  at  the 
same  moment. 

Each  heard  the  other. 

When  you  remember  that  it  was  not  a whit  more 
flattering  to  Letty  to  be  addressed  as  “darling”  than  it 
was  to  Harold  to  be  called  “little,”  you  will  understand 
why  each  broke  the  sentence  off  at  that  point  and  stared 
at  the  other  in  silent  disapproval.  It  was  not  that  each 
did  not  want  the  love  of  the  other,  but  that  each  preferred 
to  be  in  suspense  a little  while  to  having  love  thrown  at 
him  or  her  without  the  asking.  It  was  too  much  like 
being  drowned  in  a barrel  of  sirup. 

Letty  was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 

“Did  you  speak?”  she  asked  stiffly. 

Harold  thought  he  might  have  misunderstood  her,  and 
he  was  sure  that  if  she  had  understood  him  she  was 
entitled  to  further  explanation. 

“I  was  about  to  say,”  he  began,  his  manner  showing 
great  embarrassment,  “that — that  is,  I had  thought — 
Letty,  the  fact  is  I love  you !” 

“Harold,”  replied  Letty  gravely,  almost  sternly,  “why 
could  you  not  have  waited  a moment?  I was  about  to 
make  the  same  declaration.” 

“Then  I am  glad  I did  not  wait,”  declared  Harold 
fervently.  “I  like  a woman  better  who  does  not  wear  her 
heart  on  her  sleeve.” 


102 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


“But,  little  one,”  added  Letty  tenderly,  “can  you  not  see 
that  your  manly  modesty  demands  that  you  keep  your 
sentiments  a secret  until  the  one  you  love  has  disclosed 
hers?” 

“I  must  confess  that  I cannot,”  replied  Harold.  “It 
is  man’s  duty  to  propose” — 

“Excuse  me,  sir.  It  is  woman’s  privilege.” 

“See  here,  Letty,”  said  Harold,  with  sudden  decisive- 
ness, “there  are  some  little  matters  which  have  got  to  be 
settled  between  us,  and  we  might  as  well  discuss  them 
now.  We  have  been  willfully  blind  since  we  first  be- 
came acquainted.” 

“I  am  afraid  custom  has  more  to  do  with  life  than  we 
had  imagined,”  admitted  Letty. 

“We  will  assume  that  we  are  to  be  married,”  continued 
Harold.  “Who  is  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  family?” 

“Why,  I shall  do  it,  of  course,”  replied  Letty,  surprised 
that  he  could  ask  so  foolish  a question. 

“Indeed  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,”  said  Harold 
firmly. 

“But,  Harold,  it  has  been  the  custom  for” — 

“I  don’t  care  a condemn  about  the  custom,”  interrupted 
Harold.  “Wouldn’t  I be  a fine  sort  of  a man  to  be  de- 
pendent on  a woman?” 

“Can  you  imagine  how  I should  feel  to  be  dependent  on 
a man?”  retorted  Letty. 

“But,”  argued  Harold,  “it  is  according  to  nature  that 
woman  should  raise  children  and  man  should  work  for 
her  and  them.” 

“Nature!”  repeated  Letty  scornfully.  “One  can  illus- 
trate any  text  from  nature.  Watch  the  beasts  and  the 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


103 


birds.  Does  the  female  bird  sit  idly  by  while  the  male 
builds  the  nest?” 

'‘The  male  certainly  is  not  idle,”  replied  Harold.  “In 
my  mind  idleness  and  inferiority  are  synonymous,  and  I 
refuse  to  accept  such  a position.” 

“Yet  you  would  force  woman  to  accept  it.”  Letty  was 
discovering  that  things  which  in  romances  were  quite  de- 
lightful were  often  not  even  endurable  in  real  life  to  one 
not  brought  up  in  the  belief  that  they  must  be  endured. 

“It  is  different  with  women,”  replied  Harold.  “They 
are  most  charming  in  a subordinate  position”- — 

“That  is  precisely  what  we  think  of  men,”  returned 
Letty  calmly. 

“Well,”  said  Harold  angrily,  “you  may  as  well  under- 
stand once  for  all  that  I shall  never  place  myself  in  a 
position  of  dependence.  I wouldn’t  do  it  for  the  best 
woman  living.” 

“Nor  I for  the  best  man,”  replied  Letty,  with  equal 
spirit. 

Letty  and  Harold  had  reached  a point  in  their  walk 
where  the  road  crossed  the  park  in  opposite  directions. 
Without  a word  of  explanation  each  took  a separate  path. 

Harold  had  gone  but  a few  steps  when  he  was  met  by 
Mary, 

“Yes,”  she  said,  replying  to  his  look  of  inquiry,  “I  over- 
heard every  word.  I thought  it  would  come  to  this.” 

Mary  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to  add  that  she  was 
not  sorry,  but  if  she  thought  it  she  kept  her  thought  to 
herself.  She  had  made  herself  very  useful  to  Harold  in 
many  ways  since  the  day  she  shot  at  him,  and  the  two  had 
become  very  good  friends.  Harold  believed  that  Mary 
had  opened  her  eyes  to  her  own  folly,  and  that  he  need 


104 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


not  fear  any  further  confessions  of  love  on  her  part,  and 
Mary  had  bravely  decided  that  since  she  could  not  win 
Harold's  love  she  would  at  least  deserve  his  friendship. 
They  had  talked  together  a great  deal  about  the  delights 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Harold  had  quite  forgotten 
the  annoyances  of  the  day  and  joined  with  Mary  in  won- 
dering how  a condition  so  perfect  could  have  led  to  the 
war  of  revolution  between  the  sexes. 

Harold  had  told  Mary  of  his  hope  to  win  Letty  and 
now  looked  to  her  for  the  sympathy  which  she  had  always 
shown  when  he  was  in  distress. 

Mary  understood  and  determined  to  be  equal  to  his 
expectations,  though  her  heart  broke. 

“I  think,"  she  said  quietly,  “that  you  have  not  under- 
stood Letty.  She  has  always  declared  that  she  would 
not  marry  until  she  could  find  a man  whom  she  would 
find  companionable" — 

“That  is  precisely  the  quality  which  I desired  in  a wife," 
interrupted  Harold. 

“Yet  neither  of  you  treat  the  other  as  I should  imagine 
a companion  would  wish  to  be  treated.  Each  seems  to  me 
to  be  struggling  for  the  mastery.  You  are  willing  that 
Letty  should  be  twentieth  century  except  where  her  ideas 
of  the  fitness  of  things  come  into  collision  with  your  own. 
Letty  is  delighted  with  a nineteenth  century  man  except 
when  he  would  force  her  to  bow  to  customs  which  would 
rob  her  of  her  cherished  independence.  Let  me  tell  you, 
Harold,  that  Letty  can  never  be  like  her  grandmother." 

“I  have  not  said  that  I desire  it." 

“You  have  repeatedly  spoken  to  her  of  that  lady  as 
being  everything  desirable.  History  tells  us  that  she  was 
a very  ordinary*  young  woman,  rather  pretty,  but  ex- 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


105 


tremely  sentimental  and  possessed  of  very  little  independ- 
ence. Letty  can  never  be  like  that.  She  is  too” — 
Mary’s  estimate  of  Letty  will  never  be  known,  for  the 
conversation  was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  a noise 
which  sounded  to  Harold  like  the  threatening  growling  of 
an  angry  beast.  “What  in  time  is  that?”  he  interrupted, 
but  before  Mary  could  reply  a fearful  apparition  appeared 
before  his  astonished  gaze.  It  was  larger  than  the  largest 
house  he  had  ever  seen.  At  times  it  appeared  to  be  per- 
fectly round,  and  it  rolled  along  the  ground  with  a force 
that  must  have  crushed  even  the  largest  of  the  huge  trees 
had  it  not  flattened  itself  so  as  to  avoid  them.  As  it  came 
nearer  the  sound  of  growling  increased  to  that  of  the 
rumble  of  heavy  thunder,  and  pent  up  lightning  seemed 
to  shine  from  its  myriad  eyes. 

“It  is  coming  this  way,”  gasped  Mary.  “Harold,  have 
you  ever  worked?”  , 

“No,”  replied  Harold.  “Why  should  I?  My  father’s 
wealth” — 

“Will  not  save  you,”  interrupted  Mary.  “That” — 
pointing  to  the  terrible  thing  swiftly  rolling  toward  them 
— “that  is  the  'Colossal  Scheme.’  ” 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  took  Harold  by  the  shoulders, 
and  with  almost  superhuman  strength  tossed  him  to  one 
side.  The  huge  creature  rolled  on,  leaving  poor  Mary 
crushed  to  death  on  the  very  spot  where  but  a second 
before  she  had  been  so  full  of  life  and  strength.  A crowd 
of  mourners  soon  gathered  about  her  prostrate  form. 

“It  is  fate,”  said  the  more  philosophical  among  them. 
“No  great  Scheme  was  ever  set  on  foot  for  the  benefit  of 
humanity  that  did  not  count  its  innocent  victims  by  scores 
before  it  began  to  operate  successfully.” 


106  A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 

“But  what  is  this  Scheme?”  inquired  Harold. 

“It  was  started,”  explained  the  Liveforever,  “for  the 
purpose  of  annihilating  those  individuals  who  are  born 
tired.  I presume  it  was  in  search  of  you,  who  have  as  yet 
made  yourself  needful  to  no  one;  but,  as  you  see,  our 
noble  Mary  has  given  her  life  for  yours.  Young  man, 
you  must  work  for  a living,  either  as  housekeeper,  shop- 
boy,  chamberman,  nurseboy  or  retailer  of  system  sup- 
plies.” 

Harold  was  about  to  declare  himself  in  favor  of  the  last 
mentioned  alternative  when  Letty,  who  had  been  bending 
over  Mary,  came  to  his  side  and  placed  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  , 

“Harold,”  she  said  softly,  “should  you  prefer  to  have 
me  like  my  grandmother?” 

“Letty,”  he  retorted,  “should  you  prefer  to  have  me  like 
my  kinsman,  Mr.  James  Winthrop?” 

Then  the  lovers  looked  into  each  other’s  eyes  and 
smiled.  They  realized  that  each  was  dependent  on  the 
other — made  so  by  a love  which  was  stronger  than  the 
prejudices  of  either — and  simultaneously  they  agreed  to 
strike  a compromise. 

“We  will  spend  our  lives,”  said  Harold,  “in  trying  to 
teach  that  what  one  thinks  is  right  because  it  seems  to  be 
in  the  natural  order  of  things  is  more  often  right  only 
because  custom  has  taught  us  to  so  regard  it.” 

“We  will,”  added  Letty,  “look  forward  to  a day  when 
we  shall  have  taught  people  to  consider  a condition  right 
because  based  upon  principles  of  exact  and  impartial  jus- 
tice.” 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


107 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  year  1932  the  tax  on  bachelors  was  unusually 
high,  and  genial  Tom  Wainwright  was  disposed  to  evade 
it,  if  possible.  It  was  due  on  the  first  day  of  the  new  year, 
and  Miss  Alice  Griggs  had  rejected  him  early  in  May. 
It  was  now  the  middle  of  November,  and  as  more  than 
six  months  had  elapsed  since  that  rejection  he  knew  it 
would  not  be  recognized  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  as  a suffi- 
cient reason  why  he  should  not  be  taxed.  He  had  given 
no  other  young  lady  an  opportunity  to  say  “No-,”  an 
oversight  which  he  regretted  now. 

In  the  state  where  he  lived  there  was  a law  to  the  effect 
that  every  bachelor  should  be  taxed  who  could  not  show 
a written  rejection  or  in  other  ways  give  proof  that  he  had 
prc posed  matrimony  to  some  eligible  young  lady  and  had 
been  refused  within  a period  of  six  months.  It  was  deter- 
mined to  resort  to  every  lawful  means  to  break  up  the 
unmarried  condition  which  forced  so  many  women  to 
compete  with  men  in  the  labor  market.  Taxes  were  levied 
in  accordance  with  the  eligibility  of  the  bachelor,  and  the 
money  derived  therefrom  was  used  in  the  support  of 
unprotected  women. 

Tom  Wainwright,  being  thirty  years  of  age,  handsome, 


108 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


prosperous  and  in  every  way  able  to  care  for  a wife,  had 
for  five  years  been  obliged  to  pay  a tax  which  he  consid- 
ered out  of  all  reason.  Not  only  that,  but  he  knew  that 
for  the  next  ten  years  the  tax  would  be  steadily  increased. 
He  had  on  several  occasions  evaded  it  by  engaging  him- 
self to  some  attractive  maiden,  then,  when  the  danger  of 
taxation  was  past  for  that  year,  causing  a quarrel  which 
resulted  in  his  dismissal,  but  the  authorities  had  become 
suspicious,  and  Tom  had  reason  to  believe  that  another 
such  event  would  be  closely  investigated.  Clearly  he 
must  find  some  new  and  yet  plausible  way  to  evade  the 
tax  on  bachelors  this  year  or  deprive  himself  of  many 
luxuries  which  he  was  sure  he  could  not  do  without. 

Down  at  his  clubhouse  his  friends  were  entertaining  a 
guest  from  abroad,  and  Tom  ought  to  have  shed  the  light 
of  his  cheerful  smile  on  the  scene.  He  knew  very  well 
that  the  fellows  never  enjoyed  themselves  quite  so  well 
when  he  was  absent,  but  he  felt  in  no  mood  for  merry- 
making to-night.  He  donned  dressing  gown  and  slip- 
pers, set  a box  of  choice  cigars  on  the  table,  which  he 
pushed  close  beside  the  open  grate ; then,  throwing  him- 
self into  his  most  inviting  easy  chair,  gave  himself  to  the 
problem  which  confronted  him.  He  had  thought  of  no 
feasible  solution  when,  the  guest  from  abroad  having  been 
sufficiently  entertained,  Tom  was  joined  by  Sander  Ridg- 
way,  his  most  intimate  club  friend. 

“What’s  up,  old  fellow?”  asked  Sander,  helping  himself 
to  an  easy  chair  and  a cigar.  “We  missed  you  at  the 
club.” 

“I  was  too  stupid  to  make  a decent  appearance,  so  pre- 
ferred to  remain  at  home.  Have  a good  time?” 

“Tiptop ! I wish  you  could  have  met  that  fellow,  Tom. 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


109 


What  ails  you,  anyhow?  You  look  decidedly  morbid.” 
“I  feel  morbid.  Business  has  been  dull  the  past  year, 
and  it  is  almost  time  for  that  confounded  matrimonial 
tax.” 

“You  must  have  a big  one  to  pay  to  make  you  look  like 
this.” 

“It  was  five  thousand  dollars  last  year,  and  it  will  be 
heavier  this.  Confound  such  a law,  anyhow ! I believe 
it  would  be  better  to  let  women  scratch  for  themselves, 
as  they  used  to  do  in  the  good  old  days  of  our  grand- 
mothers.” 

“Oh,  I don’t  know  about  that ! Women’s  work  cheap- 
ens labor,  you  know.  That  is  one  reason  why  the  matri- 
monial tax  became  a law.  And,  after  all,  you  would  not 
like  to  see  women  obliged  to  care  for  themselves.  It 
would  look  very  bad  for  the  men.” 

“I  know  it,  Sander.  I presume  I’m  selfish,  but,  really, 
this  tax  is  as  hard  to  pay  as  a doctor’s  bill.” 

“Then  why  don’t  you  marry?  You  could  support  a wife 
on  five  thousand  dollars  a year.” 

“I  have  not  yet  seen  any  one  who  was  worth  the  price 
of  my  freedom.  No,  thank  you,  Sander,  I’d  rather  pay 
the  money  and  live  alone.  But  I don’t  see  just  where 
the  money  is  to  come  from.  That’s  the  rub.  I shall  be 
obliged  to  take  a cheaper  room,  discharge  my  valet,  take 
meals  at  a second-class  restaurant  and  smoke  five- 
centers.” 

“That’s  where  the  law  gets  in  its  work,  my  boy.  By  a 
steadily  increasing  pressure  of  self-denial  it  hopes” — 

“It  is  outrageous !” 

“It  gives  you  a choice.  For  my  part  I prefer  matri- 
mony.” 


110 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


“Is  that  a fact?” 

“It  is.” 

“Who  is  the  young  lady?” 

“Miss  Alice  Griggs.” 

“O-h-h-h!  Ahem!  Is  that — is  that  why  she  refused 
me?” 

“I  presume  it  had  something  to  do  with  it,  my  boy. 
She  is  a very  sensible  young  lady.” 

“Tastes  differ.  However,  I think  she  is.  I congrat- 
ulate you,  Sander.  You  know,  of  course,  that  there  was 
no  serious  lovemaking  between  us.” 

“To  be  sure.  Alice  said  she  suspected  that  you  were 
fishing  for  a refusal,  and  so  she  accommodated  you.” 

“I  wish  I had  not  given  her  the  opportunity  quite  so 
early  in  the  season.  It  might  have  helped  me  out  of  this 
difficulty  had  I been  less  premature  with  my  proposal.” 
“Why  don’t  you  become  engaged  again?”  asked  San- 
der. 

“I  have  gone  my  limit  in  that  direction,”  replied  Tom. 
“If  I am  a party  to  another  broken  engagement,  I shall 
be  subject  to  a heavy  fine.” 

“You  are  in  a bad  fix,  old  fellow,  and  that’s  a fact. 
Still  you  might  let  the  next  engagement  run  for  the  three 
years  allowed,  and  then  perhaps  you  would  be  better  fixed 
financially,  and  the  fine  would  not  trouble  you.” 

“I  wonder  how  that  would  work.”  Tom’s  face  bright- 
ened perceptibly.  “In  the  meantime  I should  have  the 
money  that  would  otherwise  be  spent  in  the  matrimonial 
tax  to  apply  toward  the  payment  of  the  fine,  and  it  would 
be  a great  help  out  of  present  difficulties.” 

“If  you  could  find  some  girl  in  whom  you  could  con- 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


Ill 


fide — some  one  who  would  agree  to  dismiss  you  at  the 
end  of  the  three  years” — 

“I  should  be  in  trouble  if  she  did  not.  When  a man 
breaks  the  engagement  at  any  time,  it  is  bad  enough,  but 
if  he  does  so  after  allowing  it  to  run  three  years  the  law 
has  no  mercy  on  him.  It  would  mean  financial  ruin.” 
“Clarissa  Pearce  is  a sensible  sort  of  girl” — 

“I’d  rather  be  dead  than  be  obliged  to  marry  her.  She 
would  never  let  me  off  of  her  own  accord.  Besides  she  is 
twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine  years  old.  She  would  not 
make  such  an  arrangement  unless  she  thought  me  in 
earnest,  for  it  would  deprive  her  of  her  pension.” 

“I  don’t  understand.” 

“Don’t  you  know  that  if  a woman  receives  no  proposal 
of  marriage  between  the  twenty-fifth  and  thirtieth  years 
she  receives  an  extra  amount  of  money  on  pay  day  which 
is  called  a pension  for  the  unprotected?  This  pension  is 
paid  once  in  three  years,  after  the  age  of  thirty,  to  those 
who  have  not  rejected  a suitor  since  the  last  payment. 
Even  if  I could  make  up  my  mind  to  act  as  Miss  Clarissa’s 
escort  during  the  next  three  years  I doubt  if  she  would  be 
willing  to-  consent  to  the  arrangement,  unless  she  meant 
to  hold  me  to  it  at  the  end  of  that  time.” 

“I  had  forgotten  the  pension  law.  It  would  deprive 
Miss  Clarissa  of  two  payments.” 

“And  I should  be  taking  an  awful  risk.  No,  Sander,  it 
won’t  do.  We  must  think  of  something  else.” 

For  several  minutes  there  was  silence  between  the  two 
young  men.  Then  Sander  startled  his  friend  by  springing 
to  his  feet  with  a most  exultant  shout. 

“I  have  it !”  he  said.  “Tom,  I can  help  you  out  of  this 
scrape  like  magic.  I know  the  very  girl.” 


112 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


“You  do?  Old  boy,  if  you  help  me  now,  I’ll  never  for- 
get it.” 

“I  have  a cousin” — 

“Have  I seen  her?” 

“No,  she  lives  in  the  country.” 

“Pretty?” 

“Pretty  as  a picture — graceful,  too,  and  very  well  read. 
She  is  a stunner  and  no  mistake,  but” — 

“Well,  don’t  hesitate.  But  what?” 

“She  has  an  awful  temper.” 

“That  doesn’t  count.  I may  show  you  an  interesting 
case  of  'Taming  of  the  Shrew.’  It  would  add  variety  to 
my  humdrum  existence.  Really,  I believe  I should  like 
it.” 

“Well,  supposing  you  sit  down  and  write  a note  ex- 
plaining the  situation  fully.  Daisy  hates  anything  like 
deceit.” 

“Do  you  mean  that  I must  tell  her  that  I want  to  be 
engaged  to  her  for  a period  as  long  as  the  law  allows  that 
I may  evade  the  matrimonial  tax,  and  that  she  must 
agree  beforehand  to  dismiss  me  at  the  end  of  that  time?” 
“Precisely.  Daisy  would  try  to  make  life  a burden  to 
you  if  she  thought  you  were  deceiving  her.” 

“Do  you  suppose  she  would  consent  to  such  an  ar- 
rangement?” 

“I  think  so.  She  wishes  to  study  music  and  has  de- 
cided not  to  marry  before  her  twenty-sixth  birthday.  She 
is  twenty-one  now  and  has  property  enough  to  enable 
her  to  take  care  of  herself,  so  she  cares  nothing  for  the 
maiden’s  pay  day.  I think  she  would  like  an  escort  who 
would  not  trouble  her  with  a lover’s  importunities  and 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


113 


who  would  act  as  a shield  between  herself  and  possible 
lovers.” 

“It  will  do  no  harm  to  propose,  at  any  rate.” 

Tom  wrote  the  letter,  as  his  friend  had  suggested, 
sealed  it  carefully,  addressed  it  to  Miss  Margaret  Blake 
and  gave  it  to  Sander  to  deliver.  Sander  inclosed  it  in 
one  giving  full  particulars,  and  in  due  time  Tom  received 
the  following  reply: 

Mr.  Tom  Wainwright: 

Dear  Sir— I have  just  finished  reading  your  proposal  and  my 
cousin’s  pleasant  account  of  you,  which  he  was  so  good  as  to  send 
with  the  proposal.  In  reply,  I will  say  that  I agree  to  consider 
myself  your  betrothed  for  a period  of  three  years  and  to  release 
you  at  the  end  of  that  time,  provided  you  conduct  yourself 
as  a gentleman  should  toward  the  lady  whom  he  esteems  highly, 
but  does  not  expect  to  marry.  I do  not  like  endearments,  but  I 
understand  that  society  is  somewhat  exacting  in  regard  to  the 
behavior  of  engaged  people,  and  I shall  try  to  so  conduct  myself 
that  we  may  not  be  commented  upon.  I can  see  that  you  would 
prefer  not  to  have  it  known  that  we  are  engaged  simply  for  con- 
venience. It  will  please  me  to  have  a desirable  escort  during  my 
stay  in  town,  and  Cousin  Sander  assures  me  that  I shall  find 
you  simply  perfect.  I wonder  what  he  has  told  you  about  me. 
That  I have  an  abominable  temper,  I presume.  He  considers 
that  my  chief  characteristic.  Well,  it  is  bad,  but  console  yourself 
with  the  thought  that,  so  far  as  I know,  it  is  the  only  fault  1 
have!  And  I am  not  cross  when  things  go  to  suit  me.  If  you 
prove  a satisfactory  escort,  I presume  you  will  never  know  from 
experience  that  I am  not  simply  angelic!  Yours  truly, 

- Margaret  Blake. 

Tom  found  this  letter  quite  satisfactory  and  could 
hardly  wait  for  the  day  when  he  was  to  see  Miss  Mar- 
garet, or  Daisy,  as  her  cousin  called  her,  and  as  he  liked 
to  think  of  her.  A number  of  his  best  friends  knew  of  his 
good  fortune  in  finding  a charming  girl  who  was  willing 
to  be  engaged  to  him  for  a period  of  three  years  and  to 
give  him  his  liberty  at  the  end  of  that  time. 

“It  will,”  he  explained,  “not  deprive  me  of  my  freedom 


114 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 

in  any  sense  of  the  term.  In  fact,  it  will  give  me  greater 
freedom.  I can  be  pleasant  with  other  girls  without  their 
thinking  that  I am  making  love,  and  even  if  I should  fall 
in  love  with  one  of  them  my  engagement  to  Daisy  will 
not  prevent  me  from  explaining  matters  to  the  other  girl 
and  declaring  my  sentiments.” 

It  was  really  quite  a nice  arrangement,  and  Tom  would 
not  have  had  a moment’s  uneasiness  before  he  met  Miss 
Margaret  had  he  not  overheard  two  of  his  friends  talking 
about  him  one  day  at  dinner. 

“I  wouldn’t  have  believed  Tom  Wainwright  would  be 
so  simple,”  said  one  of  them,  “as  to  go  and  engage  him- 
self to  a girl  whom  he  had  never  seen.” 

“He  depended  upon  Ridgway’s  judgment,  I under- 
stand,” replied  the  other. 

“But  she  is  Ridgway’s  cousin,  and  one  is  always  Tlind 
to  the  defects  of  one’s  relatives.  Besides  did  you  ever 
know  Ridgway  to  be  acquainted  with  any  girl  who  was 
not  charming?  All  girls  are  alike  in  his  eyes.  He  has  no 
more  judgment  than  a Hottentot.” 

“There  is  no  one,”  replied  the  other  speaker,  “whom  I 
would  rather  see  caught  than  Tom  Wainwright.  He  is 
so  fastidious ! Think  what  it  would  mean  to  him  to  be 
obliged  to  escort  an  ugly  woman  for  three  long  years  and 
see  Sander  walking  away  with  pretty  Alice  Griggs !” 


CHAPTER  II. 

Tom  was  decidedly  uncomfortable  when  he  left  the 
table.  His  discomfort  increased  as  the  day  on  which 
Miss  Margaret  was  to  arrive  drew  nearer.  He  was  very 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS.  115 

nervous  when  he  went  to  the  station  with  Sander  to 
meet  her.  He  had  hoped  to  meet  her  before  it  became 
necessary  to  announce  the  engagement,  but  she  was  de- 
layed in  her  preparations,  and  it  was  nearly  Christmas 
when  she  reached  the  city.  All  engagements  must  be 
announced  before  the  first  day  of  December  or  the  bach- 
elor was  not  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  paying  the 
matrimonial  tax. 

As  Tom  paced  back  and  forth  in  the  little  waiting  room 
he  thought  what  a notorious  joker  Sander  was  and  won- 
dered at  his  own  folly  in  trusting  his  happiness  for  the 
next  three  years  in  the  hands  of  any  one  but  himself. 
Suppose  Sander  had  indulged  his  passion  for  playing 
practical  jokes  and  arranged  an  engagement  between 
himself  and  an  ancient  specimen  of  humanity  who  would 
gladly  give  up  her  right  to  a pension  for  the  sake  of 
posing  before  the  world  as  the  object  of  a man’s  affec- 
tions. Sander  had  declared  that  she  was  stunning,  but 
with  Sander  that  might  mean  anything  or  nothing.  He 
would  have  remembered  that  at  the  time  of  his  proposal 
had  he  not  been  so  worried  over  his  financial  affairs.  If 
Daisy  should  prove  to  be  what  the  fellows  called  “an  ugly 
back  number,”  how  they  would  laugh  at  him — the  elegant 
Tom  Wainwright,  who  had  always  prided  himself  on 
being  first  in  the  estimation  of  every  young  lady  whom 
the  other  fellows  raved  about ! 

The  train  came  shrieking  into  view,  and  Tom  felt  the 
pressure  of  Sander’s  hand  upon  his  arm.  He  walked 
with  him  to  the  side  of  the  day  coach,  arriving  just  in 
time  to  see  Sander  help  a lady  to  alight  and  then  press 
a kiss  upon  her  cheek.  She  had  come.  Tom  could  not 
doubt  it,  for  he  had  heard  Sander  call  her  Daisy.  She 


116 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


had  come,  and  she  was  a caricature  on  humanity.  It  was 
worse — a hundred  times  worse — than  his  worst  fears  had 
pictured.  Tom  could  scarcely  suppress  a groan.  He  felt 
himself  growing  pale  to  the  lips,  when  he  heard  his  name 
spoken  in  a soft  voice  and  realized  that  Sander  had  intro- 
duced  the  woman  who  held  his  written  proposal.  He 
stammered  something  by  way  of  reply  to  her  greeting 
and  mentally  vowed  to  break  off  the  engagement  if  it 
cost  him  every  cent  he  had  in  the  world.  He  told  him- 
self that  beggary  was  preferable  to  being  seen  for  three 
long  years  in  company  with  such  a nightmare  of  feminin- 
ity. But  he  must  not  be  rash.  He  had  just  sense  enough 
left  to  realize  that.  There  were  two  ways  of  doing  every- 
thing, and  he  was  noted  for  always  finding  the  pleasanter. 
He  allowed  Sander  to  escort  Daisy  to  the  waiting  room, 
and,  although  he  walked  beside  her,  he  tried  to  appear 
more  like  an  acquaintance  of  the  lady  than  her  promised 
husband.  Arrived  in  the  waiting  room,  »he  murmured 
something  about  being  very  sorry,  but  a most  pressing 
engagement — 

“I  saw  that  man  for  you  this  morning,  Tom,”  inter- 
rupted Sander,  with  a determined  expression  on  his 
happy  face.  “I  told  him  you  had  a previous  engagement, 
which  you  had  doubtless  forgotten,  and  that  he  need  not 
expect  you  until  later  in  the  day.” 

“Ah ! H’m,  ahem ! Much  obliged,  I’m  sure,”  stam- 
mered Tom.  He  saw  that  Sander  understood  his  little 
dodge  and  also  that  he  would  brook  no  trifling. 

“Don’t  mention  it,”  replied  Sander  cheerfully.  “I’ll  go 
out  to  see  if  the  carriage  is  ready.  You  bring  Daisy  in 
the  course  of  five  minutes.  I suppose  you  will  be  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  be  alone  with  her.” 


117 


She  was  a caricature  on  humanity. 


118  THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 

Sander  bowed  gracefully  and  left  them  together.  Tom 
felt  that  Daisy  was  scrutinizing  him  sharply,  but  that  did 
not  disturb  him  so  much  as  the  fact  that  he  was  also  sub- 
ject to  the  scrutiny  of  several  of  his  friends.  Whatever 
happened,  he  must  not  let  them  see  that  he  was  not  en- 
tirely satisfied.  He  must  appear  so  well  pleased  with  his 
companion  that  they  would  not  dare  to  mention  her  in 
his  presence.  Giving  himself  a mental  shake,  he  man- 
aged to  smile  into  her  spectacled  eyes  as  heasked  her  if 
she  were  ready  to  go  to  the  carriage.  He  gave  her  his 
arm,  escorting  her  with  as  grand  an  air  as  if  she  had 
been  a queen,  but  he  did  not  fail  to  hear  the  half  sup- 
pressed titter  that  followed  from  the  room.  It  almost 
unnerved  him.  The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  but  San- 
der was  not  to  be  seen.  The  small  boy  whom  he  had 
hired  to  hold  the  horse  told  Tom  that  Mr.  Ridgway  had 
gone  to  see  that  man  whom  Mr.  Wainwright  was  to  meet 
at  this  hour,  thinking  there  might  have  been  a misunder- 
standing. 

A naughty  word  came  close  against  Tom’s  smiling  lips, 
but  he  did  not  allow  it  to  escape.  He  handed  his  com- 
panion into  the  carriage,  tucked  the  robes  around  her  so 
carefully  that  much  of  her  objectionable  dress  of  bright 
green  was  concealed,  took  the  reins  and  the  whip  and 
drove  toward  the  house  where  Sander  lived  with  his 
mother  at  a rate  of  speed  which  was,  to  say  the  least, 
extremely  reckless.  Miss  Margaret  was  obliged  to  give 
her  whole  attention  to  an  effort  to  keep  her  seat,  and  con- 
versation between  herself  and  her  companion  did  not  be- 
come intensely  interesting. 

Good  Mrs.  Ridgway  was  watching  for  them  and  came 
to  the  door  to  welcome  her  niece. 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


119 


“How  unusually  well  you  are  looking,  my  dear !”  she 
exclaimed,  and  once  more  Tom  groaned  under  his  breath. 
If  she  looked  better  than  usual  now,  he  thought,  what 
must  she  be  like  in  a normal  condition? 

“I  shall  not  invite  you  in  now,  Mr.  Wainwright,”  added 
Mrs.  Ridgway,  “for  I want  Daisy  all  to  myself  for  a little 
while.  You  may  come  later.” 

“She  will  soon  tire  of  me,”  said  Daisy,  smiling  at  Tom 
with  an  abandonment  of  sentimental  gush  that  set  his 
teeth  on  edge.  “It  doesn’t  seem  to  take  any  one  long  to 
tire  of  me,”  she  added  plaintively.  “You  can’t  think  how 
nice  it  seems  to  be  bound  to  some  one  who  is  as  glad  to 
devote  himself  to  me  as  I am  to  have  him.” 

Tom  bowed  and  tried  to  smile.  He  could  not  say  a 
word.  He  did  not  know  which  he  wanted  most — to  com- 
mit suicide  or  murder. 

“Tire  of  her !”  he  thought  as  he  went  toward  his  room. 
“I  don’t  see  how  any  one  can  help  it  who  has  eyes  and 
ears.” 

Going  to  his  rooms,  Tom  found  Sander  comfortably 
ensconced  in  his  favorite  easy  chair. 

“Thought  I’d  make  myself  at  home,”  he  announced 
cheerfully. 

“See  here,  Ridgway,”  exclaimed  Tom,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  his  friend’s  remark,  “joking  is  well  enough,  but 
when  it  comes  to  unmitigated  falsifying  it  is  downright 
low.” 

“Will  you  please  explain  yourself?”  said  Sander,  a 
gleam  of  snger  in  his  eyes. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Tom  that  Sander’s  cousin  was 
under  discussion  and  that  perhaps  one  could  not  be 
blamed  for  failing  to  see  the  ugliness  in  one’s  relatives, 


120 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


He  found  himself  admitting  that  it  was  barely  possible 
that  Sander  had  not  been  joking  at  his  expense,  but  the 
results  could  hardly  have  been  more  unpleasant  had  he 
been  the  victim  of  a practical  joke,  and  he  must  get  rid 
of  part  of  his  ill  feeling  by  expressing  himself  indignantly 
to  some  one.  It  was  certain  that  no  one  was  more  de- 
serving of  such  unpleasant  attention  than  §ander  Ridg- 
way. 

“Are  you  such  a fool,”  he  said,  “as  to  pretend  that  you 
believe  what  you  told  me?” 

“I  am  not  conscious  of  having  lied,”  replied  Sander 
stiffly.  “I  may  be  a fool,  but  shall  not  be  twitted  of  it  a 
great  many  times,  let  me  tell  you.” 

There  was  a tone  in  Sander’s  voice  that  was  new  to 
Torn.  It  was  not  pleasant.  It  seemed  to  say  that  two 
could  show  ill  temper  quite  as  well  as  one,  and  that  he 
would  come  off  victorious  who  was  least  in  the  power  of 
the  other.  Tom  saw  that  if  he  were  to  attempt  to  break 
the  engagement  with  Daisy  he  would  need  the  support 
of  his  friends,  and  that  least  of  all  could  he  afford  to  an- 
tagonize Sander.  He  resolved  to  control  his  temper  and 
succeeded,  as  any  man  can  and  does  when  his  interests 
are  at  stake. 

“Sander,”  he  said,  “I  have  said  more  than  I should, 
perhaps,  but  if  you  could  understand  how  disappointed  I 
am  — 

“Disappointed ! About  what?” 

“You  told  me  she  was  but  twenty-one  years  old.” 

“I  say  so  now.” 

“But  her  hair  is  gray.” 

“Did  you  never  hear  of  hair  turning  suddenly  from  sick- 
ness? I think,  however,  that  it  helps  rather  than  hurts  a 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


121 


young  face.  You  cannot  deny  that  it  softens  Daisy's 
iace  wonderfully.  Did  you  notice  what  pretty  eyes  she 
has?” 

“How  could  I see  her  eyes  through  colored  glasses?” 
“Oh,  I remember ! She  wore  her  goggles.  She  does 
not  wear  them  all  the  time.  Perhaps  she  will  be  without 
them  this  evening.  Hasn't  she  a pretty  complexion?” 
“That  hideous  green  thing  she  wore” — 

“Do  you  mean  that  woolen  veil?  She  is  subject  to 
attacks  of  neuralgia  and  is  obliged  to  be  very  careful 
when  traveling.  She  will  not  be  likely  to  wear  that  very 
much  here  in  the  city.” 

“Will  she  wear  it  at  all?” 

“She  may.  One  can  never  tell  exactly  what  a woman 
will  do — especially  a woman  like  Daisy.  As  I have  told 
you,  she  is  very  willful  and  has  a high  temper,  but  you 
know  you  thought  that  rather  an  advantage.” 

Tom  bit  his  lip  savagely.  He  remembered  his  foolish 
speech  about  “Taming  of  the  Shrew”  and  wished  he  had 
not  made  it.  He  had  indulged  in  some  delightful  day 
dreams  in  which  he  and  a beautiful  young  girl  figured 
and  where  she  had  always  acknowledged  his  supremacy 
in  the  most  charming  manner,  and  all  the  fellows  had 
looked  on  admiringly  and  envied  him  his  good  luck  and 
fascinating  demeanor.  The  remembrance  of  that  dream 
did  not  tend  to  make  the  reality  any  more  delightful  in 
his  eyes. 

“I  must  admit,”  continued  Sander,  noticing  that  Tom 
did  not  seem  disposed  to  reply  to  his  question,  “that 
Daisy  does  not  show  good  taste  in  dress.  I did  not 
notice  that  when  I saw  her  in  the  country.  Such  things 
are  more  a matter  of  comparison  than  anything  else,  I 


122 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


fancy.  She  must  learn  how  to  dress  like  city  girls.  Pm 
sure  she  will  not  object  to  a few  suggestions  from  you 
when  she  has  learned  to  know  you  well.  You  have  such 
a taking  way  with  girls,  you  know,  and  already  Daisy 
seems  anxious  to  please  you.  She  is  very  conscientious. 
When  she  undertakes  to  do  a thing,  she  do€s  her  best.” 
Sander  talked  with  boyish  enthusiasm,  and  Tom  found 
it  quite  impossible  to  say  what  he  had  in  mind.  He 
was  not  sure,  when  Sander  rose  to  go,  whether  his 
friend  had  played  a practical  joke  on  him  or  not.  He 
promised  to  call  in  the  evening,  and  as  soon  as  Sander 
had  had  time  to  get  well  out  of  sight  he  put  on  his  hat  and 
overcoat  and  started  for  the  office  of  his  lawyer. 

“I  thought  so,  my  dear  boy,”  chuckled  Sander  from  a 
doorway  where  he  had  been  watching  for  Tom.  “You 
are  going  to  see  your  lawyer.  How  should  you  feel  if 
you  knew  I had  already  been  there.  Oh,  Jemima,  what 
a lark  this  is  ! Til  go  to  the  club  now  and  ask  a few  of  the 
fellows  if  they  would  not  like  to  drop  in  informally  and 
see  Tom  entertain  Daisy.” 

“Parkhurst,”  said  Tom,  taking  a chair  opposite  his  law- 
yer, ‘Tm  in  a bad  fix.” 

“What’s  up  now?” 

“Oh,  it’s  all  on  account  of  that  beastly  matrimonial  tax. 
You  know  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  me  to  pay  it 
this  year” — 

“Not  exactly  impossible,  Wainwright.” 

“Yes,  impossible  unless  I oblige  myself  to  live  without 
everything  to  which  I have  been  accustomed.” 

“Would  that  be  so  hard?” 

“It  would  be  extremely  unpleasant.” 

“But  think  to  what  use  your  money  would  be  put.  You 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


123 


forget  that  this  tax  is  levied  that  women  may  have  a few 
of  the  luxuries  which  you  have  in  such  abundance.” 

“I  forget  nothing  of  the  sort.  Of  course  I am  willing 
to  pay  a fair  share  toward  their  support,  but  you  know 
that  I have  always  been  taxed  beyond  reason.” 

“I  think  there  are  few  of  us  who  would  not  find  fault 
with  almost  any  rate  of  taxation.  Well,  what  can  I do 
for  you?” 

/'First,  forget  what  I have  said  if  you  can,”  replied 
Tom,  with  a sudden  change  of  tone.  "A  man  must 
grumble  about  something,  I suppose,  or  he  would  not  be 
human.  It  might  as  well  be  taxes  as  anything  else.  I 
presume  I shall  be  taxed  nearly  six  thousand  dollars  this 
year,  shall  I not?” 

“I  may  get  it  reduced  four  or  five  hundred  by  proving 
that  your  financial  condition  does  not  warrant  so  large  a 
rate  of  taxation.” 

"That  would  really  be  proclaiming  that  I am  hard  up. 
No,  don’t  do  that.  If  I must  sink,  I prefer  to  sink  with 
flying  colors.” 

"Who  is  talking  of  sinking?” 

"I  am.  I tell  you,  Parkhurst,  I have  got  myself  in  a 
tight  place.” 

"How  so?” 

"Suppose  I am  obliged  to  fight  a breach  of  promise 
case?” 

"You  can’t  afford  it  this  year,  my  boy.  It  would  mean 
financial  ruin.” 

"I  am  afraid  I shall  have  to  do  it,  ruin  or  no  ruin.  I 
very  foolishly  proposed  to  Ridgway’s  cousin  and  was 
accepted” — 

"Do  you  refer  to  Miss  Margaret  Blake?” 


124 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


“Yes.  Do  you  know  her. 

“Very  well.  Tom,  you  surprise  me.  Why  did  you  do 
that?” 

“I  had  not  seen  her” — 

“I  should  think  not!”  This  was  said  with  such  energy 
that  Tom  was  sure  the  lawyer  had  no  higher  opinion  of 
the  personal  appearance  of  the  young  lady  in  question 
than  he  himself  had  formed. 

“Sander  has  always  seemed  to  be  a friend  whom  one 
could  trust,”  he  said  apologetically.  “We  have  told  each 
other  everything  for  the  last  five  years.  He  saw  that  I 
was  worried  about  that  beastly  tax  and  suggested  this 
plan  as  a way  out  of  the  difficulty.  He  represented  Miss 
Blake  as  beautiful,  graceful — everything,  in  fact,  that  a 
man  could  ask  for  except  that  she  might  be  a little  too 
high  tempered.” 

“Ridgway  always  worshiped  his  cousin.  Still,  I must 
say  that  you  have  shown  a surprising  lack  of  common 
sense.  Had  you  thought  of  buying  a horse  of  Ridgway 
you  would  have  insisted  on  seeing  it  first.” 

“I  didn’t  have  much  time,  you  know.” 

“Oh,  well,  I guess  it  is  not  as  bad  as  it  might  be. 
Miss  Blake  is  quite  musical,  and  she  has  very  pleasant 
manners,  I believe ; at  least  they  seemed  pleasant  in  the 
country.  I can  hardly  think  of  her  as  a city  girl.  I 
have  an  idea  that  she  will  appear  very  differently  from 
the  girls  upon  whom  you  have  usually  danced  attend- 
ance.” 

“I  am  sure  of  it,”  groaned  Tom.  “Parkhurst,  I’m 
thinking  of  breaking  the  engagement.” 

“Have  you  counted  the  cost?” 

“I  presume  it  will  pinch  me  for  a year  or  two.” 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


125 


'‘Pinch  you ! Man  alive,  it  will  ruin  your  prospects  for 
life.  Not  only  will  there  be  a heavy  fine  for  the  broken 
engagement,  but  the  breach  of  promise  suit” — 

"Perhaps  Miss  Blake  will  not  sue” — 

"Don’t  flatter  yourself.  She  will.  I know  her  better 
than  you  do.  She  will  like  nothing  better.  It  will  give 
her  just  the  advertisement  she  wants  before  becoming 
a public  singer.” 

"Does  she  mean  to  study  for  the  stage?” 

"So  I am  told.” 

"Worse  and  worse.”  Tom  groaned  more  dismally  than 
before.  He  looked  so  wretched  that  the  lawyer’s  heart 
became  almost  sympathetic.  There  was  silence  between 
the  two  men  for  several  minutes.  Then  Parkhurst  said 
seriously: 

"I  don’t  believe  I should  break  that  engagement  if  1 
were  you,  Tom.” 

"How  can  I go  on?  I have  virtually  promised  to  ap- 
pear with  her  in  society,  and  if  I should  break  even  that 
part  of  the  contract” — 

"She  has  you  in  her  power  and  no  mistake.  Should 
you  lose  everything,  you  would  be  in  a more  unhappy 
condition  than  you  would  should  you  play  the  devoted 
lover  to  Daisy.  You  may  be  chaffed  for  your  odd  prefer- 
ence, but  if  you  carry  yourself  well  it  will  only  be  consid- 
ered one  of  your  oddities,  while  if  you  throw  your  prop- 
erty away  you  will  not  be  thought  worthy  even  so  much 
notice  as  is  given  to  those  whom  we  chaff.  You  will, 
besides,  subject  yourself  to  most  uncomfortable  personal 
experiences.” 

Parkhurst  was  convincing  in  any  argument.  He  of- 
fered to  go  with  Tom  to  call  on  Daisy,  and  when  the  two 


126 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


men  stood  on  the  steps  of  Sander's  home  Tom  was  quite 
prepared  to  try  to  play  the  part  which  he  had  taken  upon 
himself  in  his  effort  to  evade  the  tax  oh  bachelors.  But 
when  he  entered  the  room  his  courage  nearly  failed  him. 
He  would  have  left  the  house  at  once  could  he  have  done 
so  without  observation. 

“Never  mind,"  whispered  the  lawyer.  “She  will  learn 
to  dress  better  when  she  has  been  in  the  city  awhile." 

“Bare  arms  and  shoulders !"  groaned  Tom.  “And  all 
those  men  around  her!  I wonder  that  they  don't  offer 
her  a shawl." 

“Society  ladies  always  used  to  dress  in  that  way,"  re- 
plied the  lawyer.  “I  presume  your  mother's  gowns  were 
cut  that  way." 

“Do  you  suppose  my  mother  painted  her  face  as  well?" 
asked  Tom  witheringly. 

“I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  were  I to  be  assured 
of  that  fact.  Ladies  used  to  consider  their  toilet  but  half 
made  until  they  had  painted  their  faces.  Daisy,  in  her 
effort  to  create  a sensation,  is  slightly  behind  the  times, 
but"— 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  that  young  lady, 
who  came  forward  to  meet  them,  with  both  hands  ex- 
tended and  her  gown  trailing  behind  her  in  a way  that 
disgusted  Tom  beyond  measure.  He  had  read  of  women 
who  wore  trailing  gowns,  but  it  had  never  been  his  mis- 
fortune to  see  one  until  now.  To  his  fastidious  mind  it 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


127 


seemed  shockingly  untidy,  and  an  untidy  woman  was,  in 
# his  opinion,  the  most  pitiable  spectacle  imaginable. 

“I  thought  you  were  never  coming,  Tom,  dear,”  said 
Daisy,  taking  his  hands  in  hers  and  smiling  up  into  his 
face.  “And  now  that  you  are  here  I have  a great  mind 
to  keep  you  all  to  myself.” 

“I  want  to  get  acquainted  with  him,”  she  added,  speak- 
ing to  Mr.  Parkhurst.  “I  presume  you  know  that  we  are 
engaged  to  be  married?” 

“Tom  has  told  me.  I’ll  offer  congratulations- when  we 
are  alone.” 

“I  believe  he  means  to  kiss  me,”  replied  Daisy,  looking 
at  Tom.  “Shall  you  allow  that?” 

“I  will  answer  when  I am  sure  of  his  intentions,”  re- 
plied poor  Tom. 

“He  thinks  you  could  not  make  up  your  mind  to  do  it,” 
said  Daisy,  turning  to  Mr.  Parkhurst.  “He  doesn’t  know 
how  we  behaved  when  you  were  in  Wheatlands,  does  he? 
It  seems  ever  so  nice  to  see  you  again,  dear  Mr.  Park- 
hurst. Let  us  sit  together  on  that  couch  in  the  corner, 
where  we  can  talk  over  old  times.” 

“I  thought  you  were  going  to  give  your  exclusive  at- 
tention to  Tom?” 

“I  have  changed  my  mind.  Tom  has  a squint  that 
makes  my  eyes  ache,  and  his  ears  are  ever  so  much  too 
large.  I think  I shall  like  him  better  if  I see  very  little 
of  him.  It  is  quite  necessary,  you  know,  that  we  should 
avoid  becoming  too  antagonistic,  for  we  must  spend  a 
great  deal  of  time  together.” 

Daisy’s  voice  was  soft  and  sweet,  but  very  clear.  Tom 
was  quite  sure  that  several  of  the  callers  who  had  hap- 
pened  in  had  heard  her  allusion  to  his  squinting  eyes  and 


128 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


his  large  ears — the  only  defects  by  which  nature  had 
sought  to  mar  an  otherwise  perfect  exterior.  Tom  was 
very  sensitive  concerning  these  defects,  and  his  friends 
had  humored  his  sensitiveness  for  so  long  a time  that  he 
had  begun  to  believe  that  no  one  noticed  them  but  him- 
self. Miss  Daisy’s  criticism  did  not  serve  to  increase  his 
love  for  her. 

Tom  tried  to  make  himself  entertaining  to  Stella  Man- 
ning, another  of  Mrs.  Ridgway’s  nieces,  but  he  could  not 
keep  his  attention  from  wandering  to  the  little  figure  in 
the  gay  gown  of  black  and  yellow  satin  sitting  beside 
Parkhurst. 

“You  don’t  like  her  dress,  I see,”  said  Stella,  following 
his  glance  of  cold  disapproval.  “Daisy  always  did  have 
the  oddest  taste  in  dress,  and  no  one  can  persuade  her 
that  it  is  not  perfect.  Gray  hair,  smoked  glasses,  bare 
arms  and  shoulders,  painted  face,  corsets  and  bustle.  Did 
ever  any  one  see  such  a combination?” 

“It  is  not  modern,  certainly,”  replied  Tom,  trying  not 
to  sneer.  “I  believe  there  was  a time  when  all  society 
ladies  dressed  in  that  way.  In  these  days  of  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  beauty  it  hardly  seems  possible.” 

“Daisy  has  a perfect  mania  for  collecting  old  things. 
They  say  it  is  a characteristic  handed  down  from  a grand- 
mother, who  would  give  as  much  as  would  make  a poor 
family  comfortable  for  a year  to  possess  a rickety  chair 
or  a soiled  head  rest  or  any  equally  useless  thing  that  had 
been  owned  by  a person  of  distinction.” 

“Do  you  know  that  to  be  a fact?”  asked  Tom  eagerly. 
It  had  occurred  to  him  that  if  such  a mania  could  be 
proved  he  would  have  sufficiently  good  grounds  for 
breaking  his  engagement  to  Daisy.  The  law  was  not 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


129 


meant  to  enforce  marriage  with  one  who  had  so  question- 
able an  inheritance  for  the  coming  generations. 

‘‘I  do  not  know  Daisy  intimately/’  confessed  Stella, 
“although  she  is  a cousin,  but  I have  reason  to  believe  it 
is  a fact.  A great  many  persons  have  told  me  so.” 

“Can  you  give  me  the  name  of  any  of  them?” 

“You  seem  to  doubt  me,”  replied  Stella  coldly.  “I 
ought  to  have  remembered  that  you  would  naturally  re- 
quire proof  of  anything  said  against  the  young  lady  to 
whom  you  are  betrothed.” 

There  was  a peculiar  emphasis  on  the  word  “young” 
that  Tom  did  not  fail  to  notice,  but  what  troubled  him 
most  was  the  very  evident  fact  that  Stella  was  displeased. 
He  felt  that  she  had  information  which  might  be  of  great 
use  to  him,  and  that  he  must  exert  himself  to  propitiate 
her. 

“I  asked,”  he  said  quickly,  “not  because  I doubted  you 
— please  believe  I could  not  do  that — but  for  an  entirely 
different  reason  which  I should  prefer  not  to  mention  just 
at  present.” 

“I  beg  that  you  will  not  mention  it  at  all,”  interrupted 
Stella,  with  an  asperity  that  caused  Tom  to  wonder 
whether  there  might  not  be  more  than  one  of  Sander’s 
cousins  who  had  a bad  temper.  “Excuse  me,  please,” 
she  added,  with  frigid  politeness.  “I  wish  to  speak  with 
auntie.” 

Stella  crossed  the  room  and  pretended  to  button  her 
aunt’s  glove  while  she  murmured:  “Oh,  my  unfortunate 
tongue ! I’m  dying  to  laugh,  auntie.  I came  very  near 
getting  myself  into  trouble  just  now.” 

It  was  decided  that  evening  that  Daisy  should  attend 
her  first  reception  on  the  following  week.  It  was  to  be 


130 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


given  at  the  elegant  home  of  the  De  Quinceys,  who  were 
considered  the  wealthiest,  most  refined  and  most  benev- 
olent family  in  the  state. 

"Will  this  dress  do  to  wear?”  asked  Daisy  of  Tom 
when  the  reception  had  been  planned  by  Mrs.  De  Quincey 
and  indorsed  by  Mrs.  Ridgway.  "I  want  to  please  you,” 
she  added,  "since  it  will  be  the  first  time  we  will  appear 
in  society  together.” 

"If  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  so,”  replied  Tom 
coldly,  "I  do  not  like  this  dress  at  all.” 

"Do  you  not  like  colors?  I see  so  many  ladies  here  in 
white.” 

"I  do  not  like  colors,  and  I detest  stripes  and  spots  and 
checks  and  everything  which  tends  to  make  a woman 
look  like  a peacock.” 

"I  am  so  glad  I have  a white  dress,”  replied  Daisy  as 
sweetly  as  if  Tom  had  not  been  in  the  least  ungentlemanly 
in  his  manner  of  speech.  "It  is  of  white  silk,”  she  added, 
"so  stiff  as  almost  to  stand  alone,  and  it  rustles  when  I 
walk,  like  wind  blowing  through  the  corn.  It  has  a train 
three  yards  long,  and  there  are  no  sleeves  at  all — just  a 
little  strap  over  the  shoulders.  It  is  trimmed  with  passe- 
menteries which  sparkle  with  every  movement,  and  I have 
some  beautiful  jewels  which  were  left  me  by  my  grand- 
mother. Do  not  fear  that  I shall  not  make  a sensation. 
Even  you,  who,  I am  told,  have  broken  the  hearts  of  so 
many  girls,  cannot  fail  to  be  satisfied  with  my  appear- 
ance. It  will  be  simply  stunning.” 

Think  what  that  was  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  a girl  to 
whom  one  was  betrothed,  in  a land  where  the  perfection 
of  style  was  expressed  in  the  words  "beauty  unadorned 
adorned  the  most”;  where  jewelry  and  beads  and  passe- 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


131 


menteries  were  looked  upon  as  relics  of  barbarism ; where 
only  savages  dressed  themselves  in  colors;  where  the 
natural  form  and  complexion  were  considered  most  beau- 
tiful ; where  trailing  skirts  were  looked  upon  as  an  almost 
unpardonable  evidence  of  untidiness  ! Think  how  it  must 
have  sounded  in  the  ears  of  a man  who  was  the  acknowl- 
edged leader  in  the  art  of  beautiful  dressing.  The  fastid- 
ious Tom  could  not  find  words  to  express  his  disappro- 
bation of  the  gown  she  described.  It  seemed  to  him  that, 
in  the  face  of  such  utter  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  beau- 
tiful, nothing  he  could  say  would  have  the  slightest  effect. 
He  was  reduced  to  a state  of  helpless  speechlessness  quite 
foreign  to  him,  but  his  companion  chatted  as  incessantly 
as  if  she  believed  him  to  be  infatuated  with  her  conversa- 
tional powers. 

Tom  could  not  but  admit  that  her  voice  was  exquisitely 
sweet  and  well  modulated.  It  vibrated  most  pleasantly 
upon  his  sensitive  ear,  and  its  charm  was  not  diminished 
by  the  use  of  poor  diction  and  a faulty  pronunciation.  It 
would  have  been  a delight  to  him  to  listen  to  her  could 
he  have  sat  with  closed  eyes,  even  though  she  talked  only 
of  trivial  things.  She  reminded  him  of  the  characters  por- 
trayed in  some  of  the  novels  which  were  supposed  to  rep- 
resent society  as  it  was  between  the  years  1870  and  1886. 
In  his  fine  condemnation  of  that  age,  as  represented  by 
Daisy,  he  failed  to  see  that  he  himself  showed  a share  of 
the  inheritance  handed  down  by  the  parents  of  those  days 
in  that  love  of  luxurious  ease  which  had  been  sufficiently 
strong  to  tempt  him  to  place  himself  in  his  present  un- 
happy  position. 

“I  think,  Mr.  Wainwright,”  said  Daisy  quite  suddenly, 
“that  already  you  repent  your  proposal.  Am  I not  good 


132 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


enough  in  your  opinion  to  help  you  evade  a tax  which 
every  honorable  man  should  be  willing  to  pay?  Or  do 
you  think  yourself  worthy  of  the  best,  no  matter  what  use 
you  wish  to  make  of  her?  Does  your  exquisite  taste  rob 
you  of  the  instincts  of  true  manhood  ?” 

There  was  a touch  of  sarcasm  in  the  soft  voice  that  cut 
Tom  like  a knife.  He  tried  to  give  her  to  understand  that 
he  would  not  tolerate  such  insinuations,  even  from  a 
woman,  but  he  could  not  speak.  She  had  shown  him  a 
picture  of  himself  which  he  despised,  yet  which  he  could 
not  deny. 

“I  intend,”  continued  Daisy,  rising  and  confronting 
him,  “I  intend  to  hold  you  to  your  proposal,  because  it 
suits  my  convenience  to  do  so,  but  I wish  you  to  under- 
stand that  you  have  not  inspired  my  respect  and  that  I 
do  not  care  to  see  you  except  when  you  must  appear  as 
my  escort.  I am  disappointed  in  you.  I had  thought, 
judging  by  what  my  cousin  wrote,  that  you  were  a gentle- 
man.” 

“May  I ask  how  I have  displeased  you?”  asked  Tom 
coldly. 

“You  have  shown  that  you  are  disappointed  because  I 
am  less  beautiful  than  Sander  pictured  me.  Do  not  try 
to  deny  it.  I have  seen  it  in  your  eyes  from  the  first,  but 
I should  like  to  ask  who  and  what  you  are  that  you  give 
yourself  the  right  to  criticise  my  personal  appearance.  A 
man  who,  to  continue  his  selfish  indulgence,  will  resort 
to  such  methods  as  I am  helping  you  to  carry  out,  and 
who,  instead  of  showing  proper  appreciation  of  my  good 
intentions,  sulks  in  a manner  most  conspicuous  and  in- 
sulting because  I am  not  as  beautiful  as  a picture!  You 
shall  carry  out  your  part  of  our  contract,  Mr.  Wain- 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


133 


wright,  or  suffer  the  consequences.  I shall  expect  you 
to  be  here  in  good  season  to  escort  me  to  Airs.  De  Quin- 
cey’s,  but  I do  not  care  to  see  you  again  in  the  meantime. 
You  need  not  fear  that  I shall  exact  much  attention  from 
you  when  once  we  are  there.  I am  not  quite  so  unat- 
tractive as  that  would  imply.” 

She  swept  him  a mocking  bow,  and,  walking  away  with 
the  air  of  an  empress,  joined  the  party  of  young  people 
who  had  gathered  around  the  piano  in  the  music  room. 
The  next  moment  Tom  heard  her  singing  with  young  De 
Quincey,  and,  angry  as  he  was,  he  could  not  help  paying 
a silent  tribute  to  her  beautiful  voice. 

“If  she  were  only  half  civilized,”  he  mused,  “and  not 
quite  so  ugly — but,  no,  even  her  voice  does  not  make  her 
endurable !” 

Tom  quietly  left  the  house,  without  a word  of  parting 
to  any  one,  and  made  his  way  to  his  own  room.  He  had 
never  been  more  thoroughly  wretched.  He  felt  that,  in 
one  respect,  Sander’s  description  of  his  cousin  had  not 
been  at  fault — she  did  have  a temper ! 

“Heavens,”  he  thought,  “what  a punishment  it  would 
be  to  a man  to  be  obliged  to  go  through  life  with  such  a 
virago !” 


CHAPTER  IV. 

During  the  days  which  followed,  Tom  grew  thin.  His 
appetite  fled,  and  lines  of  worry  were  deeply  drawn  in  his 
face.  His  lawyer  assured  him  that  he  was  a fool  for 
showing  his  annoyance  so  plainly  and  by  that  means  giv- 


134 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


ing  his  friends  so  good  an  opportunity  to  discuss  his 
affairs. 

“They  will  mistrust  that  you  are  hard  up,”  he  said, 
“and  then  you  will  lose  prestige.  I am  ashamed  of  you, 
Tom.  Why  don’t  you  brace  up  and  be  a man  about  it?” 
“I  wish  you  were  in  my  boots,  Parkhurst” — began 
Tom. 

“I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my  boy!  Handsome, 
refined,  popular,  wealthy — what  more  can  a man  ask? 
As  for  Miss  Daisy,  you  are  blinder  than  you  need  to  be 
about  her.  She  has  a certain  power  of  attraction  that 
more  than  one  of  your  acquaintances  seems  to  appreciate. 
I saw  her  out  riding  yesterday  with  young  De  Quincey 
and  to-day  with  Walton  Humphrey.” 

“You  didn’t!”  exclaimed  Tom  in  amazement. 

“I  certainly  did.  You  might  have  seen  her  also  had 
you  not  been  moping  here  in  your  room.  There  have 
not  been  so  many  callers  at  the  Ridgways  in  years  as 
there  have  been  since  Miss  Daisy  came  to  the  city.” 

Tom  brightened  up  under  the  influence  of  the  lawyer’s 
information.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  easier  it  is  to 
endure  a person  when  one  discovers  that  he  is  sought 
for  among  the  idlers  of  society.  Tom  began  to  think 
that  he  might  at  least  endure  what  De  Quincey  and 
Humphrey  deliberately  sought.  He  began  at  once  to 
make  preparations  to  attend  the  reception  at  the  De  Quin- 
ceys.  Half  an  hour  ago  he  had  decided  to  send  word 
that  he  was  too  ill  to  go,  trusting  that  she  might  accept 
the  excuse.  He  decided  to  dress  himself  with  even  more 
than  his  usual  care  and  to  appear  so  brilliant  that  his  un- 
happy manner  during  that  last  evening  at  the  Ridgways 
would  be  credited  to  the  premonitory  symptoms  of  the 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


135 


indisposition  which  had  followed.  He  was  grateful  now 
to  Parkhurst  for  having  spread  the  report  that  he  was 
not  feeling  well,  although  he  had  been  annoyed  when  his 
friends  began  dropping  in  to  make  inquiries  concerning 
his  health. 

Tom  never  looked  better  than  he  did  when  standing 
before  the  grate  in  Mrs.  Ridgway’s  sitting  room,  waiting 
for  the  appearance  of  Daisy.  He  heard  her  voice  in  the 
hall,  and,  summoning  a polite  smile  to  his  face,  turned  to 
greet  her.  The  heavy  draperies  before  the  door  were 
pushed  aside.  Tom  advanced  a step  or  two  and  stood 
face  to  face  with  a vision  of  loveliness  which  fairly  took 
his  breath  away.  The  smile  became  more  genial  as  he 
softly  explained  that  he  was  expecting  to  see  Miss  Blake. 

“I  am  Miss  Blake,”  replied  the  girl  quietly. 

It  was  Daisy’s  voice  surely,  but  what  had  become  of 
the  gray  hair  and  the  smoked  glasses?  Where  were  the 
heavy  eyebrows  which  had  met  so  sternly  over  the 
glasses?  Where  was  the  unsightly  black  patch  which 
had  adorned  one  cheek?  Where  was  the  ugly  wart  which 
he  had  seen  on  the  side  of  her  nose? 

“You  are  disappointed  once  more,  I perceive,”  said 
Daisy,  breaking  the  uncomfortable  silence  which  had 
fallen  between  them. 

“I  presume  I might  as  well  explain,  Mr.  Wainwright, 
that  I have  been  acting  a part.  I wished  to  convince 
myself  that  you  were  as  perfect  as  my  cousin  Sander  rep- 
resented you  to  be.  Shall  we  go  now?  It  is  growing 
late.” 

“You  were  fortunate  in  having  such  able  assistants  to 
make  your  little  comedy  so  enjoyable,”  said  Tom  coldly. 

“Oh,  you  need  not  blame  your  friends  ! No  one  wanted 


136 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


to  do  it  at  first,  but  I persuaded  them  to  change  their 
minds.  Sander  may  not  have  told  you  that  I usually  have 
my  own  way.” 

Once  more  Tom  was  speechless.  It  was  not  difficult 
for  him  to  believe  that  so  charming  a girl  always  had  her 
own  way.  He  would  have  turned  against  any  friend  he 
had  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  her,  but  to  have  his  friends 
turn  against  him  was  different. 

“I  suppose  Parkhurst  knew,”  he  said  after  he  had 
helped  Daisy  into  the  carriage  and  taken  a seat  beside 
her. 

“Oh,  yes,”  replied  Daisy,  changing  to  the  seat  oppo- 
site, “Mr.  Parkhurst  knew.  He  was  difficult  to  persuade, 
however !” 

Tom  thought  how  Parkhurst  had  tried  to  persuade  him 
to  appear  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  engagement  to  Miss 
Daisy,  and  he  could  see  that  if  he  had  followed  his  law- 
yer’s advice  he  would  now  be  in  a position  to  laugh  at  his 
tormentors.  Tom  realized  that  he  had  blundered,  and  he 
did  not  know  how  to  retrieve  himself.  He  cursed  himself 
and  all  his  friends,  but  that  did  not  help  matters  in  the 
least.  In  a few  moments  the  carriage  would  stop  before 
the  door  of  the  De  Quinceys,  and  the  silence  between 
himself  and  that  vision  of  loveliness  opposite  was  rapidly 
becoming  more  uncomfortable.  Tom  would  have  liked 
to  establish  a friendly  relation  before  he  met  his  friends, 
thinking  that  by  so  doing  he  could  make  his  own  position 
less  difficult. 

“I  presume,”  he  began,  “that  there  is  no  explanation” — 

“I  think  I shall  find  it  easier  to  forget  if  you  say  noth- 
ing,” interrupted  Daisy  coldly. 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


137 


Tom  ventured  no  further  remark,  and  the  two  entered 
the  house  in  silence. 

“Why  did  you  do  it?”  asked  Tom  of  Parkhurst,  when 
a little  later  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Daisy  sur- 
rounded by  the  most  eligible  young  men  in  the  room  and 
making  herself  delightfully  agreeable  to  every  one  but 
himself. 

“Because,  Tom,”  replied  the  old  lawyer  gravely,  “I 
thought  it  would  do  you  good.  So  did  Mrs.  Ridgway, 
who,  as  you  know,  has  always  taken  a motherly  interest 
in  you.  You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  you  were 
becoming  too  firmly  impressed  with  the  belief  that  the 
best  of  everything  belonged  by  right  to  yourself.  Do 
not  get  angry  with  me  for  saying  so.  Remember  that  I 
was  an  old  friend  of  your  father.” 

Tom  was  angry.  He  was  angry,  and  the  more  he 
thought  of  it  the  angrier  he  became.  It  was  quite  natural 
that  he  should  be,  and  his  friends  appreciated  that  fact, 
and  bore  with  him  as  patiently  as  possible,  believing  that 
before  many  days  he  would  be  himself  again. 

“Tom,”  said  Parkhurst,  “take  my  advice  and  appear 
to  enjoy  yourself.  You  look  like  a thundercloud.  Keep 
your  eyes  away  from  Miss  Daisy.  Leave  her  as  severely 
alone  as  she  could  possibly  desire  and  give  your  attention 
to  the  other  young  ladies,  as  you  used  to  do.” 

This  time  Tom  saw  that  the  lawyer’s  advice  was  good, 
and  he  tried  to  act  upon  it  from  that  moment.  He  never 
spoke  to  Daisy  unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  no 
one  guessed  how  much  of  self  denial  he  practiced  in  con- 
sequence. Pie  was  soon  on  as  good  terms  as  ever  with 
his  friends  and  was  the  idol  of  society,  as  he  had  always 
been.  The  young  ladies  raved  over  him,  but  he  could 


138 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


not  win  one  smile  from  Daisy,  except  when  she  thought 
it  was  demanded  by  the  rules  of  politeness.  She  was  the 
personification  of  iciness  whenever  they  happened  to  be 
alone  together. 

At  first  Tom  had  laughed  lightly  when  his  friends  men- 
tioned her  evident  avoidance  of  him,  but  there  came  a 
time  when  he  could  not  bear  it  and  when  his  flashing  eyes 
warned  them  that  it  was  a subject  which  he  would  not 
hear  discussed.  There  came  a time  when  Tom  realized 
that  Daisy  held  his  happiness  in  her  keeping,  and  that  it 
was  a matter  of  indifference  to  her.  There  were  days  when 
he  was  filled  with  a fierce  exultation  at  the  thought  that 
she  was  bound  to  him  for  a period  of  more  than  two  years 
yet,  and  that  no  one  could  claim  superior  rights.  There 
were  other  times  when  he  felt  that  to  see  her  and  to  wait 
upon  her  and  know  that  he  had  no  part  in  her  life  was  a 
torture  which  was  fast  becoming  greater  than  he  could 
bear.  There  were  bright  mornings  when  he  resolved  to 
win  her  love  or  die  in  the  attempt.  There  were  dark 
nights  when  he  thought  of  the  easiest  and  surest  means  of 
committing  suicide.  He  had  played  at  love  a great  many 
times  and  enjoyed  it.  He  was  deeply  in  love  now  and  was 
miserable. 

How  was  it  with  Daisy?  It  is  a question  which  that 
young  lady  would  have  found  difficult  had  she  tried  to 
answer  it,  but  she  did  not  try.  She  had  come  to  the  city 
fully  determined  to  give  the  best  of  herself  to  her  music. 
She  had  resolved  never  to  marry,  at  least  not  until  she 
had  won  fame  in  the  musical  world.  She  had  entered  into 
the  engagement  with  Tom  principally  because  she  be- 
lieved that  by  so  doing  she  would  be  free  from  importu- 
nities of  other  men  which  she  might  otherwise  have  found 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


139 


distracting.  She  was  a very  earnest  young  lady,  who  had 
brought  the  whole  force  of  her  strong  nature  to  bow  be- 
fore the  altar  of  her  ambition.  Even  her  pleasures  were 
enjoyed  with  the  thought  that  such  recreation,  if  not  too 
often  indulged  in,  would  enable  her  to  work  more  profit- 
ably. It  had  amused  her  for  two  reasons  to  play  a part 
to  deceive  Tom — she  wished  to  know  if  she  possessed  the 
qualities  necessary  to  a successful  actor,  and  she  fancied 
that  it  would  be  more  enjoyable  than  it  had  proved  to  be 
to  try  the  man  whom  her  cousin  praised  so  extravagantly. 
Daisy  was  inclined  to  be  cynical  in  her  opinions  of  men. 
When  she  had  first  seen  Tom's  face,  she  had  liked  it.  She 
told  herself  afterward  that  she  might  have  liked  its  owner 
better  than  she  should,  considering  her  ambition,  had  he 
not  proved  himself  so  little  of  a gentleman.  Therefore 
she  was  glad  that  he  had  behaved  just  as  he  did.  She 
believed  she  had  forever  dismissed  that  subject  with  her 
disapproval  of  his  conduct,  and  that  now  her  heart  was 
impregnable  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

At  first  Tom’s  opinions  and  preferences  were  really 
a matter  of  indifference  to  Daisy,  but  no  young  lady  likes 
to  have  the  most  attractive  gentleman  of  her  acquaintance 
attentive  to  every  one  but  herself.  Daisy  was  not  pleased 
with  Tom’s  behavior.  Had  she  shown  her  displeasure  in 
the  ordinary  way  she  might  soon  have  been  the  recipient 
of  more  attention  from  him  than  she  would  have  liked  at 
that  time,  but  she  did  nothing  in  the  ordinary  way,  and 
she  deceived  even  herself  as  to  her  opinion  of  Tom. 

She  realized  that  he  made  her  uncomfortable,  but  she 
said  it  was  because  he  was  so  very  ungentlemanly.  She 
was  sure  that  she  should  always  despise  a man  who  judged 
people  entirely  by  their  personal  appearance.  There  was 


140 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


no  dependence  to  be  placed  in  one  whose  regard  for 
another  was  regulated  by  that  other’s  wealth  of  natural 
attractions.  She  never  listened  when  her  friends  spoke  of 
the  great  improvement  noticeable  in  Tom  Wainwright 
during  the  past  year.  She  preferred  to  believe  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  overcome  the  only  fault  which  she 
had  been  able  to  find  in  him.  She  assured  herself  and 
others  that  a man  with  such  a fault  could  pretend  any- 
thing, but  that  he  was  false  at  heart,  and  the  heart  did  not 
change. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Tom  and  Daisy  had  been  betrothed  more  than  a year 
when  the  hop  at  Calhoun’s  was  proposed,  and  the  pro- 
posal heartily  indorsed  by  the  young  people  of  their  ac- 
quaintance. Silas  Calhoun  was  the  proprietor  of  a large 
hotel  built  on  the  shores  of  a little  lake  miles  away  from 
nowhere — at  least  that  is  the  way  it  was  described  by  the 
enthusiastic  guests  who  congregated  there  every  sum- 
mer for  rest.  It  was  so  secluded  that  society,  with  its 
unceasing  demands,  never  found  it,  and  the  favored  few" 
who  kept  its  location  a secret  enjoyed  themselves  as  un- 
conventionally as  possible.  The  nearest  railway  station 
was  five  miles  distant.  The  young  people,  however,  did 
not  propose  to  go  to  Calhoun’s  by  rail.  The  roads  were 
in  prime  condition,  and  a sleigh  ride  of  50  miles,  divided 
in  the  middle  by  a hot  supper  and  two  or  three  hours 
spent  in  dancing  while  the  horses  rested,  was  a prospect 
much  too  delightful  to  be  resisted  by  any  young  person 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


141 


with  a spark  of  enthusiasm  and  vivacity  about  him.  The 
best  horses  to  be  had  were  engaged  for  the  ride.  Tom  had 
no  desire  to  make  the  trip  alone  with  the  coldly  silent 
Daisy  and  had  persuaded  a friend  to  go  with  him  in  a 
double  sleigh  and  take  Daisy's  cousin  Stella. 

Sleigh  rides  like  this  have  been  described  so  much  bet- 
ter than  I can  do  it  that  I shall  pass  over  this  part  of  the 
story,  as  well  as  over  the  delights  which  followed  when 
the  merry  party  arrived  at  Calhoun's. 

It  was  after  supper,  while  they  were  dancing  in  the  long 
dining  room,  that  the  stornTcame  up.  No  one  noticed  it 
until  it  was  nearly  time  for  the  gay  party  to  start  on  the 
homeward  trip  and  the  jolly  host  had  gone  to  the  barn 
himself  to  make  sure  that  the  horses  had  been  well  cared 
for.  When  he  came  back  to  the  house  he  told  his  guests 
that  he  believed  there  would  be  a blizzard  before  morning 
and  that  it  would  be  safer  for  them  to  remain  at  his  place 
overnight.  Then  the  dancing  ceased  and  eager  young 
people  crowded  around  the  door  and  peered  out  into  the 
darkness. 

“If  there  should  be  a blizzard,"  said  Stella,  “we  might 
be  detained  here  for  several  days." 

Daisy  looked  at  her  quickly,  but  said  nothing.  She 
was  thinking  of  her  appointment  for  the  next  day  with 
a noted  manager  who  had  condescended  to  try  her  voice. 
If  he  pronounced  it  good  there  was  hope  that  a desirable 
position  might  be  offered  her.  Daisy  was  deciding  that 
she  should  not  remain  over  night  at  Calhoun's. 

“Do  you  think  the  storm  is  close  upon  us?"  asked  San- 
der, who,  for  reasons  which  will  be  easily  understood  by 
those  who  have  been  in  love,  did  not  like  to  miss  the  long 
ride  home,  under  the  stars,  in  the  comfortable  little  sled 
which  was  just  large  enough  for  Alice  and  himself. 


142 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


“I  can’t  tell,”  replied  Mr.  Calhoun,  stepping  farther 
away  from  the  house  that  he  might  get  a better  look  at 
the  heavy  bank  of  clouds  in  the  northwest.  "‘Storms  are 
dreadfully  deceptive  in  this  part  of  the  world,”  he  added. 
“Now,  when  I was  back  in  York  state  I could  reckon 
on  a storm  almost  to-  a minute,  but  here  I’ve  sometimes 
missed  it  by  an  hour  or  two.  However,  I think  we  shall 
hear  from  those  clouds  before  long.” 

“Are  you  sure  there  is  to  be  a blizzard?”  asked  Daisy, 
who  put  little  faith  in  the  ordinary  weather  prophet,  un- 
less he  happened  to  make  a prediction  which  suited  her 
desires. 

“One  is  never  sure  of  anything  in  this  world,”  replied 
the  old  man.  “One  thing  is  certain,  and  that  is  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  snow  in  the  air  already,  considering  the 
clouds,  which  means  that  a blizzardy  wind  is  blowing.  If 
those  clouds  contain  both  wind  and  snow” — 

“Do  you  think  it  probable,  Mr.  Calhoun,”  interrupted 
Daisy,  “that  those  clouds  will  break  over  us  in  less  than 
an  hour?” 

“They  may  not ; they  look  a long  way  off.” 

“An  hour  would  give  us  time  to  reach  the  station,” 
said  Daisy,  “and  we  could  go  into  the  city  on  the  cars.” 

“But  our  rigs,”  interposed  Sander. 

“Leave  them  here,  and  send  some  one  after  them,”  sug- 
gested Daisy. 

“I  am  afraid  to  start  when  the  sky  looks  like  that,”  said 
Stella. 

“You  might  stay  here,  then,”  replied  Daisy.  ""For  my 
part  I prefer  to  go.” 

An  excited  discussion  ensued,  when  it  was  discovered 
that  Daisy  was  the  only  young  lady  who  preferred  to  risk 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


143 


the  dangers  of  the  storm  in  order  to  reach  the  city.  She 
remarked,  most  politely,  but  decidedly,  in  response  to 
Tom’s  expostulations,  that  she  meant  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, but  that  she  did  not  ask  him  to  risk  his  life  by 
accompanying  her. 

“I  am  determined,”  she  said,  “to  meet  Mr.  Gilmore  to- 
morrow, and  I have  no  doubt  that  I can  hire  Mr.  Cal- 
houn’s stable  boy  to  drive  me  to  the  station.” 

“You  will  not  be  left  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Calhoun’s  stable 
boy,”  replied  Tom  coldly.  In  another  moment  he  was 
inside  his  overcoat. 

No  further  opposition  was  offered  to  Daisy’s  plan. 
Mr.  Calhoun  insisted  on  loaning  Tom  a fresh  horse — 
one  that  knew  the  road — and  told  him  he  might  leave  it 
with  the  hotel  keeper  at  the  railway  station,  to  be  cared 
for  until  the  owner  came  to  claim  him.  The  horse  was 
hitched  to  Mr.  Calhoun’s  cutter,  which  had  been  made 
expressly  for  travel  over  country  roads,  and  plenty  of  fur 
robes  were  wrapped  around  the  occupants. 

The  air  had  seemed  almost  springlike  when  the  young 
people  left  the  city,  but  a biting  wind  had  arisen  which 
blew  directly  in  their  faces  as  Tom  turned  the  horse’s 
head  toward  the  railway  station.  They  drove  for  some 
time  in  silence,  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  the  horse’s 
hoofs  on  the  frozen  snow  and  the  dismal  creaking  of  the 
sled  runners  which  is  always  to  be  heard  in  very  cold 
weather.  The  air  was  rapidly  becoming  more  dense  with 
the  frozen  sleet,  which  struck  their  faces  like  fierce  little 
darts.  The  wind  was  steadily  rising,  and  it  seemed  to 
Tom  as  if  it  came  from  every  direction  at  once.  In  many 
places  the  road  was  made  almost  impassable  by  heavy 
drifts.  Not  a star  was  to  be  seen  in  the  sky,  not  a ray  of 


144 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


light  anywhere  which  could  have  been  used  as  a guide. 
The  horse  patiently  fought  his  way  along,  and  Tom 
finally  reached  the  conclusion  that  the  faithful  creature 
knew  more  about  the  road  than  he  did  himself.  He  cer- 
tainly could  not  have  known  less,  for  Tom  had  been  guid- 
ing him  in  a circle  for  the  last  half  hour.  Left  to  himself, 
he  promptly  turned  his  face  homeward,  but  Tom  did  not 
know  that. 

Notwithstanding  the  intense  darkness  Daisy  knew  that 
Tom  had  loosened  his  hold  on  the  reins. 

“Are  your  hands  cold?”  she  asked  quickly.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  spoken  since  she  bade  her  friends 
good-by  at  Mr.  Calhoun's  door. 

“I  am  very  comfortable,  thank  you,”  replied  Tom  iron- 
ically. 

“Why  did  you  drop  the  reins?” 

“Because  I can  no  longer  see  the  road.” 

“Mr.  Wainwright,  are  we  lost?” 

“I  do  not  know.” 

The  words  could  not  have  been  spoken  with  greater 
indifference.  Tom  was  not  in  the  happiest  mood  when 
he  left  the  Calhoun  House.  It  had  seemed  to  him  a 
reckless  proceeding  to  start  out  in  the  face  of  such  a 
storm,  for  no  better  reason  than  that  a girl  wished  to  try 
her  voice  before  a theatrical  manager,  but  there  was  not 
money  enough  in  the  world  to  have  tempted  him  to  allow 
Daisy  to  go  without  him.  When  he  found  himself  alone 
with  her,  all  his  anger  was  forgotten  in  his  love  and  in  his 
despair  because  of  its  utter  hopelessness.  Then  came  the 
thought  that  there  might  be  a worse  fate  than  to  die  with 
Daisy  before  they  reached  the  station.  He  had  been  ex- 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


145 


cessively  morbid  for  days,  and  this  new  fancy  was  a not 
unnatural  climax  to  such  a state  of  mind. 

Daisy  was  irritated  over  his  silence.  She  felt  that  she 
had  been  foolish  in  insisting  on  coming  out  in  such  a 
storm,  and  she  wanted  to  say  so,  but  it  is  never  easy  to 
introduce  such  an  acknowledgment.  She  felt  that  it 
would  be  less  hard  if  Tom  could  be  beguiled  into  con- 
versation. 

“I  should  have  thought,”  she  said,  with  a feeble  attempt 
at  playfulness,  “that  you  might  have  allowed  the  stable 
boy  to  accompany  me  when  you  knew  I preferred  it.” 

But  in  a howling  wind  playful  tones  are  not  always 
apparent.  Tom  believed  that  Daisy’s  remark  was  in- 
tended as  a reproach  because  he  had  shown  himself  un- 
able to  guide  the  horse.  It  angered  him  so  that  he  could 
with  difficulty  control  himself. 

“Believe  me,”  he  said  curtly,  “had  I known  that  you 
preferred  the  company  of  the  stable  boy  I should  not  have 
forced  mine  upon  you.” 

At  this  moment  there  was  a sudden  jerk  of  the  cutter 
that  nearly  unseated  them.  The  horse  had  plunged  into 
a deep  snowdrift  and  was  floundering  in  an  attempt  to 
regain  his  footing.  He  recovered  himself,  gave  one  leap, 
which  freed  him  from  the  cutter,  and  with  a snort  dis- 
appeared into  the  darkness. 

“Oh,”  gasped  Daisy,  “he  has  left  us !” 

Tom  was  himself  in  a moment.  All  his  petty  griev- 
ances were  forgotten  in  his  desire  to  make  Daisy  as  com- 
fortable as  possible.  The  true  manliness  which  had  won 
him  so  many  friends  in  spite  of  his  egotism  now  asserted 
itself.  Springing  from  the  cutter,  he  spread  one  of  the 
robes  upon  the  snow,  then  held  out  his  hand  to  Daisy. 


146 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


“Let  me  help  you  out,”  he  said  cheerfully.  “I  am 
going  to  tip  the  cutter  over  to  make  a partial  shelter 
against  the  storm.” 

“Must  we  stay  here?”  faltered  Daisy.  She  was  recall- 
ing stories  she  had  read  of  people  who  had  perished  in 
blizzards,  and  was  a little  fearful  of  the  consequences  of 
her  persistence. 

“I  can  see  no  better  way,”  replied  Tom.  “Even  if  we 
could  walk  in  such  a storm  we  should  not  know  which 
way  to  turn.  The  horse  will  doubtless  find  his  way  home, 
and  when  the  stable  boy  knows  you  are  in  danger” — 

“Mr.  Wainwright,  can  I help  you  turn  the  cutter  over?” 
interrupted  Daisy,  who  did  not  care  to  hear  more  about 
the  stable  boy. 

“Thanks,  no.  I think  I can  manage  it.” 

The  sled  was  soon  turned  bottom  upward  against  the 
drift  where  it  had  stuck.  Tom  scooped  snow  from  be- 
neath it  until  he  had  succeeded  in  making  a room  large 
enough  for  two.  The  robes  were  spread  down,  and  when 
he  and  Daisy  had  succeeded  in  crawling  under  the  sled 
and  had  placed  one  of  the  robes  against  the  opening  to 
their  den  they  were  really  quite  comfortable.  The  wind 
piled  the  snow  against  them,  making  them  still  warmer, 
and  they  congratulated  themselves  on  the  coziness  of 
their  retreat.  Notwithstanding  the  unpleasantness  of 
their  position  they  were  far  from  being  unhappy.  Indeed 
Tom  was  more  wildly  happy  than  he  had  ever  been  in  all 
his  life. 

* * * 

When  the  first  faint  blush  of  crimson  appeared  in  the 
eastern  sky,  Calhoun  and  his  guests  started  on  an  ex- 


THE  TAX  ON  BACHELORS. 


147 


ploring  expedition  and  had  no  sooner  left  the  house  than 
they  caught  sight  of  the  overturned  cutter. 

Don’t  ask  me  for  a detailed  account  of  what  followed ; 
neither  my  pen  nor  my  patience  is  equal  to  it.  It  began 
with  tears  and  exclamations  of  joy  and  ended  with  happy 
laughter  and  merry  jests.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  as  long 
as  they  live  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tom  Wainwright  will  be  teased 
about  their  experience  in  Mr.  Calhoun’s  barnyard  and 
their  preference  for  a circular  track  when  driving  to  a 
point  five  miles  distant. 

When  Tom  hears  a bachelor  friend  wondering  how  he 
can  manage  to  evade  the  matrimonial  tax,  he  invariably 
says:  “By  getting  married,  my  boy.  A man  is  a fool  to 
remain  single  when  it  will  cost  him  no  more  to  have  a 
home  of  his  own.” 

“And  if  it  did  cost  more?”  asks  Daisy. 

“He  would  sfill  be  a fool,”  replies  Tom. 


148 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


I awoke  to  find  myself  surrounded  by  strangers,  who 
were  regarding  me  with  an  air  of  deepest  interest. 

“Howdy  friends !”  I remarked  as  nonchalantly  as  was 
possible  under  the  circumstances.  “How  can  I serve 
you?” 

There  was  no  reply.  They  drew  a long,  'deep  breath, 
quite  in  unison,  then  jumped  from  their  seats  and  began 
shaking  hands  with  one  another,  taking  not  the  slightest 
notice  of  me.  They  seemed  under  the  spell  of  an  emotion 
too  deep  for  words. 

At  this  moment  my  attention  was  attracted  toward  a 
man  who  sat  apart  from  the  others,  and  nearer  the  head 
of  the  bed,  where  he  gazed  at  me  with  piercing  eyes  that 
seemed  to  penetrate  my  very  soul.  The  others  turned 
toward  him,  after  having  greeted  one  another,  as  if  moved 
by  a strong  impulse  to  offer  their  hands  to  him  also ; but 
he  merely  glanced  at  them,  slightly  nodding,  then  once 
more  turned  his  gaze  on  me.  His  companions  bowed,  al- 
most sweeping  the  floor  with  their  caps,  then,  with  one 
accord  they  broke  into  a hearty  cheer. 

“Runjeet  Singh!”  they  cried.  “All  honor  to  the  great 
Runjeet  Singh !” 

Runjeet  Singh  ! the  name  brought  memory  back  to  her 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


149 


stronghold,  and  I turned  to  look  more  closely  at  the  man 
sitting  so  quietly  at  the  head  of  my  bed. 

“He  is  not  Runjeet  Singh,”  I exclaimed.  “Why  do 
you  call  him  so?” 

My  companions  paid  no  attention  to  my  query,  but 
looked  with  troubled  eyes  at  him  whom  they  had  called 
Runjeet  Singh.  There  was  evident  displeasure  in  his  face, 
as  he  arose  from  his  seat  and  quietly  l$ft  the  room. 

“I  am  a humble  minister  of  the  Almighty,”  he  said,  at 
the  door.  “Give  all  honor  to  Him  to  whom  it  is  due.” 

“Say!”  I exclaimed,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him, 
“why  did  you  call  him  Runjeet  Singh?” 

My  companions  looked  at  me  very  much  as  their  mas- 
ter had  looked  at  them,  and  then  they  as  silently  left  the 
room. 

I was  alone,  and  I decided  to  dress.  I strove  to  assume 
a sitting  posture,  but  my  joints  refused  to  move. 

“The  scoundrel !”  I muttered ; “he  said  I’d  come  out 
of  it  feeling  as  good  as  new,  and  here  I am  as  stiff  as  a 
ramrod !” 

There  was  a small  bell  on  the  table  near  my  bed.  If  I 
could  reach  it  I could  summon  Runjeet  Singh,  the  man 
who  had  induced  me  to  be  buried  alive.  He  would  doubt- 
less hasten  to  my  assistance.  I exerted  myself  to  the 
uttermost,  but  I could  not  move  my  hand  so  much  as 
the  tenth  part  of  an  inch.  As  for  my  feet  and  legs,  I 
had  to  take  them  on  faith.  They  had  been  with  me  only 
a little  while  ago,  and  they  must  be  yet ; but  below  my 
neck  I was  as  lifeless  as  if  dead.  How  deeply  I regretted 
the  curiosity  that  had  led  me  to  the  study  of  the  occult ! 
How  I prayed  to  be  myself  again  just  long  enough  to 
punish  the  man  who  had  induced  me  to  offer  myself  a 


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A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


victim  to  his  unholy  practices!  I lay  there,  impotently 
cursing  him,  when  the  current  of  my  thoughts  was  sud- 
denly changed  by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  a young 
lady.  She  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  when  I first  no- 
ticed her,  gazing  at  me  exactly  as  I have  seen  naturalists 
study  a new  kind  of  bug.  It  was  disconcerting.  I felt 
that  something  should  be  said,  and  since  she  showed  no 
inclination  to  speak  first,  I must  necessarily  do  what  I 
could  to  break  the  embarrassing  silence. 

“Good  afternoon !”  I said,  cheerfully ; “did  old  Martin 
Van  Buren  get  in?” 

'“Did— did  w-h-a-t?” 

The  expression  on  her  face  led  me  to  believe  that  she 
was  deaf,  so  I raised  my  voice  to  repeat  the  question. 

“Martin  Van  Buren!  Was  he  elected?  I voted  for 
him — my  first  vote.  Good  chap,  old  Martin !” 

“Good  chap !”  repeated  my  guest,  with  a merry  laugh. 
“Good  chap,  indeed ! My  friend,  if  you  were  better  read 
— but  I forget ! How  could  you  be !” 

“Is  that  intended  for  sarcasm?”  I asked  mildly.  “Do 
you  mean  that  I know  it  all,  or  that  I’m  not  bright 
enough  to  assimilate  more?” 

“Neither,  my  friend.  Don’t  vex  yourself  without  rea- 
son. May  I come  in?” 

I grunted  an  assent.  I wanted  her  to  entertain  me, 
of  course,  but  I didn’t  want  to  appear  too  well  pleased 
until  I knew  whether  she  came  as  friend  or  foe. 

“Thanks !”  she  said,  dropping  into  a chair  near  my 
bed,  “now  I can  talk  to  you  comfortably.  To  begin,  Mar- 
tin Van  Buren  became  president — the  good  Martin  for 
whom  you  voted — and  within  two  months  the  total  busi- 
ness failures  in  New  York  alone  reached  the  enormous 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


151 


sum  of  one  hundred  millions  of  dollars.  I quote  from 
history.  Factories  and  mills  stopped  running,  and  in  one 
year  the  total  debt  of  the  country — ” 

“Stop!”  I gasped.  “For  Heaven's  sake,  stop!  My 

brain  reels.” 

“Why,  what  is  the  matter?  Is  it  possible  you  have  not 
been  told?” 

“Told  what?  But  no,  let’s  get  at  this  thing  in  a logical 

manner.” 

A frightful  idea  had  taken  possession  of  me.  What  if 
Runjeet  Singh  had  kept  me  buried  for  an  entire  year  in- 
stead of  a month,  as  he  had  promised?  Would  not  that 
account  for  the  horrible  stiffness  I felt  in  every  joint 
whenever  I tried  to  move? 

My  guest  regarded  me  with  a look  in  which  I saw  both 
amusement  and  sympathy. 

“Well,”  she  said^“ask  questions.  Perhaps  it  will  be 
the  best  to  let  you  enlighten  yourself  in  your  own  way.” 
“How  long  has  Martin  Van  Buren  been  president?” 
“He  served  four  years,  I believe.” 

“Four  years !” 

“Yes.  I’m  not  a very  good  historian,  but — ” 
“Historian  ! Madam,  are  you  crazy?” 

“Oh,  no.  Oh,  dear,  no!  but  I’m  really  afraid  you  will 
be  before  you  realize — I wonder  where  Runjeet  Singh 
can  be ! He  had  no  right  to  leave  you — ” 

“Runjeet  Singh!  Yes,  where  is  he?”  I asked  eagerly. 
“Let  me  get  hold  of  him,  just  once — Oh,  but  I’ll — ” 
“Don’t!”  she  whispered;  “don’t  make  threats,  and 
please  forget  that  I dared  criticize  him.  It  is  very  rash 
to  say  a word  against  Runjeet  Singh.” 

“Perhaps  discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valor,”  I said 


15 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


meekly,  “and  just  now  I couldn't  harm  a fly.”  I had  no 
thought,  however,  of  overlooking  any  opportunity  for 
revenge  that  might  present  itself. 

“Well,”  I continued,  trying  to  assume  a jocular  air, 
“we  might  as  well  continue  our  lesson!  Will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  tell  me  what  year  this  is?” 

“To-day  is  the  first  of  July,  1963,”  was  the  startling 
reply. 

I gasped  for  breath,  but  recovering  myself  with  a he- 
roic effort,  burst  into  a fit  of  laughter. 

“What  a little  tease  you  are !”  I said,  “but  please  be 
good,  now.  Don't  tease  any  more,  there's  a good  girl ! 
Do  you  think  you  are  treating  me  with  the  consideration 
I deserve,  under  the  circumstances?” 

“Tm  trying  to,”  gravely.  “It  is  a difficult  position. 
What  is  the  latest  year  you  can  recall?” 

“Why,  1837,  of  course!  I don't  believe  it  is  later  than 
that  now !” 

“You  must  try  to  believe  it.  What  is  your  latest  rec- 
ollection?” 

“Runjeet  Singh  was  preparing  to  bury  me  alive.  He 
buried  the  Fakir  of  Lahore,  you  remember,  and  unearthed 
and  resuscitated  him  six  weeks  later;  but  there  were 
those  who  did  not  believe  it  was  just  as  it  seemed  to  be, 
because  the  Fakir — well,  you  know  how  Fakirs  are  us- 
ually regarded,  and  he  was  Runjeet  Singh's  instructor. 
Runjeet  Singh  wanted  some  one  who  could  in  no  way  be 
accused  of  complicity — ” 

“And  you  offered  your  services.  It  is  all  down  in  the 
records.  Well,  he  decided  that  you  must  sleep  until  nine 
times  fourteen  years  had  come  and  gone.  He  said  your 
life  was  of  little  use  either  to  the  world  or  yourself ; but 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


153 


if  it  were  devoted  to  science  your  parents  need  not  be  so 
ashamed  of  having  given  you  birth.” 

I reflected  that  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  hear  all  this 
frank  young  lady  could  tell,  and  that  it  would  therefore 
be  policy  to  take  no  note  of  this  reflection  on  my  parents 
and  myself. 

“Nine  times  fourteen — that  makes  one  hundred  and 
twenty-six,”  I said  slowly. 

“And  one  hundred  and  twenty-six  added  to  1837  makes 
1963,”  was  her  triumphant  response. 

“Where  are  we?” 

“In  the  court  of  Loodhiana,  just  where  the  operation 
took  place  one  hundred  and  twenty-six  years  ago.  Your 
coffin  and  the  door  to  your  vault  were  fastened  with  the 
Rajah's  seal,  but  to-day  Americans  rule  Loodhiana,  and 
so  the  bolts  were  broken  by  a Yankee  blacksmith.  It  has 
been  proven  beyond  a doubt  that  apparent  cessation  of  all 
the  vital  functions  may  continue  for  an  indefinite  period, 
where  the  right  conditions  exist,  and  Runjeet  Singh  is 
indeed  a happy  man.  He  has  gone  far  beyond  all  knowl- 
edge possessed  by  the  Fakir  of  Lahore.” 

“But — but  I might  not  have  survived !”  I faltered, 

“That,  my  friend,  would  be  a matter  of  little  conse- 
quence, when  taken  into  consideration  with  a scientific 
question  of  such  importance.  But,  since  you  did  survive, 
you  should  be  thankful,  for  now  you’ll  have  a share  of 
Runjeet  Singh’s  triumph.  This  day  has  been  looked  for- 
ward to  with  great  anxiety.  Did  you  not  see  Runjeet 
Singh  and  his  devotees?  I understood  they  were  with 
you.” 

“Nine  times  fourteen  makes  one  hundred  and  twenty- 


154 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


six,”  I repeated,  “and  Runjeet  Singh  was  quite  fifty  years 
old—” 

“Oh,  he  wore  out  the  body  you  knew,”  interrupted  my 
companion  quickly,  “and  stepped  into  another.  I think 
it  belonged  to  a young  person  who  left  it,  temporarily, 
on  an  astral  tour.  Poor  fellow ! How  unhappy  he  must 
have  been  not  to  be  able  to  take  possession  of  it  again. 
But  such  trifles  are  never  to  be  considered,  of  course, 
when  a scientific  problem  is  to  be  solved.  It  was  neces- 
sary for  Runjeet  Singh  to  remain  on  earth  longer  than 
one  body  could  possibly  be  made  to  wear,  in  order  to 
prove  that  you  would  come  to  life  to-day.” 

“Madam,”  I said  feebly,  “if  you  will  change  the  sub- 
ject I shall  be  infinitely  obliged.  Somehow  I — I feel  old.” 
“You  don’t  look  old,”  was  her  charming  response. 

It  made  me  feel  more  at  home,  for  I thought  I scented 
a flirtation. 

“Tell  me,”  I pleaded,  “could  you  sacrifice  one  you  loved 
to  the  cause  of  science?” 

“Oh,  yes,”  was  her  instant  response,  and  her  face  light- 
ed up  beautifully.  “It  is  wonderful — it  is  most  desirable 
to  be  connected  with  science  in  any  way ! Why,  only  a 
year  ago  I let  them  use  my  father — ” 

“If  you  please,”  I interrupted  quickly,  ‘ I should  like 
to  change  the  subject  again.” 

“Pll  talk  of  something  else  with  pleasure,”  was  the 
brisk  reply.  “I  am  here  to-day  on  business  that  may, 
perhaps,  be  of  interest  to  us  both.  Will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  tell  me  when  you  were  born?” 

“In  June,  1816.  Now  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me 
why  you  wish  to  know?” 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


155 


“To  be  sure.  I am  in  search  of  a husband ; but  there 
are  certain  requirements  I must  insist  upon — ” 

“I  hope  I have  them,”  I replied  promptly,  for  she  was 
certainly  a vision  of  loveliness. 

“I’ll  be  able  to  tell  you  before  a great  while,”  she  said, 
as  she  began  figuring  on  a tablet  she  carried.  “You  see 
it  was  so  long  ago,  and — oh,  dear ! I wonder  if  you  have 
Saturn  in  your  seventh  house?” 

“I  did  not  know  I had  so  much  as  one  house,”  I re- 
sponded, “but  this  seems  an  age  of  surprises,  so  perhaps 
I am  richer  than  I thought.  If  I have  a seventh  house, 
and  Saturn  is  in  it,  and  ought  not  to  be  there,  I’ll  cer- 
tainly try  to  get  him  out.  I feel  that  I could  do  any- 
thing to  please  you,”  I added,  fervently. 

“Why,  don’t  you  understand?”  she  continued,  a look 
of  perplexity  on  her  pretty  face ; “your  seventh  house  is 
your  house  of  marriage — ” 

“So  much  the  better!  We’ll  go  there  at  once.” 
“How  absurdly  ignorant  you  are !” 

The  exclamation  filled  me  with  discomfiture.  She 
made  me  feel  as  if  it  were  the  most  dreadful  thing  to  be 
ignorant. 

“You  must  remember,”  I said,  “that — that  I am  very 
old,  according  to  your  reckoning.  Perhaps  I am  grow- 
ing childish — ” 

“Nonsense!”  Her  face  brightened.  “It  is  more  likely 
that  you  were  accustomed  to  different  ways  when  you 
were  alive  before.  1 had  forgotten  for  the  moment.  Now 
I see  that  we  have  only  to  understand  each  other.  Tell 
me,  did  you  not  make  use  of  the  truths  of  science  when 
contemplating  marriage?” 


156 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


“No — that  is — -well,  no!  I think  we  depended  more 
upon  the  truths  of  the  Goddess  Love/’ 

“Oh,  the  Goddess  Love!  Well,  you  did  live  in  the 
dark  ages!  No  wonder  history  has  so  much  to  say  of 
the  crimes  of  those  days.” 

I presume  I looked  puzzled.  Is  it  surprising?  I 
so  disliked  having  her  accuse  me  of  ignorance,  that  I 
couldn’t  make  up  my  mind  to  ask  for  an  explanation.  It 
seemed  to  me  it  would  be  wiser  to  keep  up  my  end  of  the 
conversation  as  best  I could  and  trust  that  light  would 
break  in  upon  me  by  degrees. 

“There  were  marriages  in  our  day  not  prompted  by 
love,”  I ventured,  “but  the  general  feeling  was  that  they 
were  very  dreadful.” 

“And  the  parties  were  blamed?”  she  questioned  eagerly, 
“and  held  up  as  awful  warnings?” 

“Yes,  I think  so.” 

“Well,  what  was  the  result?” 

“Oh,  I don’t  know  that  there  was  any  result ! The  fact 
is,  people  don’t — I mean  didn’t — think  of  that  part  of  it 
very  seriously.  So  long  as  they  were  married,  everybody 
decided  to  make  the  best  of  it.” 

“But  when  they  discovered  that,  through  ignorance, 
they  had  united  themselves  to  one  not  of  their  domain — 
what  did  they  do  then?” 

“Then?  Ahem!  Do  you  mean  when  they  discovered 
that  they  were  no  longer  in  love — that  they  did  not 
agree?” 

“That  they  did  not  agree ; that  is  the  better  term.  Poor 
things,  how  could  they  agree  being  in  different  domains? 
But  what  did  they  do?” 

“Oh,  the  good  ones  made  the  best  of  it,  and  went 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP.  157 

through  life  together,  and  the  bad  ones  got  divorced  and 
were  shunned  by  the  good  ones.” 

“But  the  children?’’ 

“They  usually  went  to  one  of  their  parents  or  a rela- 
tive.” 

“No,  no.  I mean  the  children  of  the — of  the  good  ones, 
as  you  call  them.” 

“Why,  their  parents  cared  for  them,  of  course.” 

“You  regard  the  matter  simply  from  a financial  point 
of  view,”  she  said,  looking  at  me  curiously.  “I  have 
read  that  people  did  so  regard  everything  in  your  day, 
but  really  did  not  believe  it.  It  is  horrible,  utterly  hor- 
rible. Didn’t  these — these  good  ones,  know  that  perfect 
children  could  not  be  born  into  a loveless  home?” 
“Well,  really,  you  know,  I never  heard  the  subject 
mentioned.  If  you’ll  excuse  my  saying  so,  I’ll  explain 
that  it  was  not  considered,  well,  exactly  modest  to  talk 
about  children  before  they  were  born.” 

“Not  modest ! Oh,  shades  of  Uranus  ! Do  you  mean 
that  young  people  were  not  brought  up  to  consider  the 
coming  generation ; that  babies  were  brought  into  the 
world  without  preparation — ” 

“Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that ! I think  every  mother  pro- 
vided a layette.” 

“Provided  a layette !”  It  would  be  impossible  to  de- 
scribe the  tone  in  which  she  repeated  my  harmless  state- 
ment. Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  sent  me  into  the  depths  of 
humiliation. 

“Did  these — these  good  ones — actually  live  together, 
knowing  that  they  were  not  married?” 

“Who  said  they  were  not  married?”  I asked  indignant- 


158 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


ly.  “A  ceremony  was  always  performed  by  either  a 
preacher,  priest  or  justice  of — ” 

“Oh,  you  mean  man-married?  God  pays  no  atten- 
tion to  ties  of  that  sort.  Surely  you  know  that.  He  has 
laid  out  plans  for  us,  and  pointed  the  way  so  plainly  that 
we  can  have  no  excuse  for  going  wrong.” 

While  she  talked  she  had  been  busy  with  a circular 
drawing  she  had  made  on  the  tablet — putting  all  sorts 
of  queer  figures  into  the  spaces  into  which  she  divided 
it.  Suddenly  she  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  deep  dis- 
appointment. 

“I'm  afraid  I shall  be  obliged  to  give  you  up,”  she  said. 
“I  have  Saturn  in  my  seventh  house,  and  you  have  Venus 
afflicted  by  Mars,  Saturn  and  Uranus,  which  shows  that 
you  could  not  agree  with  the  best  woman  that  ever  lived.” 
“Oh,  but  you  are  mistaken !”  I exclaimed,  eagerly.  “I 
know  I could  agree  with  you.  I love  you,  darling — ” 
“Nonsense!”  she  interrupted,  patting  my  head  as  if  I 
had  been  a child,  “true  love  is  impossible  between  us.  I 
have  just  discovered  that  you  belong  to  the  watery  do- 
main. Now,  I am  an  air  child.  You  and  I could  no  more 
live  harmoniously  than  could  the  trout  and  the  robin,  and 
it  would  be  dreadful  for  the  children.” 

“I  don't  believe  it,”  I protested,  choosing  to  ignore  the 
children.  “I  don't  believe  it  for  a minute.  You  don't 
know  me ! Listen ! I have  never  before  seen  a woman 
who  interested  me  in  the  least.  Has  not  Heaven  brought 
us  together  most  miraculously — ” 

“Marriage  and  miracles  are  in  no  way  related,”  she  re- 
sponded curtly. 

“But  let  me  try  to  persuade  you — ” 

“My  friend,  I have  Mars  afflicting  Uranus!” 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


159 


“Bother  ! Let  him  afflict.  What  I wish  to  say — ” 
“Don’t  you  know  what  is  indicated  when  Mars  afflicts 
Uranus?” 

“Can’t  say  I do.” 

“Well,  it  shows  a very  stubborn  disposition.  I warn 
you  that  it  is  quite  useless  to  try  to  talk  me  over.  Do 
you  suppose  I’d  marry  a man  born  under  a sign  so  un- 
congenial to  my  own?  But  do  not  look  so  unhappy.  I 
know  a very  nice  girl,  belonging  to  the  earthly  domain, 
whom  I think  you  will  like.  Earth  and  water  get  along 
very  nicely.  Mud  is  sometimes  the  result,  but  I think 
you’ll  be  able  to  mold  her  to  your  ideas,  and  that  will 
certainly  be  satisfactory  to  you,  coming  as  you  do  from 
the  dark  ages,  where  men  were  taught  to  consider  them- 
selves the  superior  sex.” 

“In  my  day,  also,  there  was  match-making,”  I said, 
scornfully,  “and  we  never  had  a very  high  opinion  of  the 
match-makers.  They  seldom  considered  the  question  of 
love  or  even  preference  on  the  part  of  their  victims.” 
“They  were  fools,”  replied  my  guest  calmly.  “I’ve 
read  about  them.  They  considered  nothing  except  finan- 
ces. You  are  deceived  in  your  feeling  for  me,  just  as 
thousands  of  your  fellow  beings  were  deceived,  and  all 
because  of  ignorance.  I,  too,  am  pleased  with  you,  for 
the  moment ; but  I know  it  must  be  temporary,  because 
it  is  contrary  to  the  great  natural  law  for  people  in  an- 
tagonistic domains  to  love  each  other.  I’ll  tell  Miss  Sea- 
mans about  you — ” 

“Don’t  trouble  yourself,”  I exclaimed  petulantly.  “If 
I can’t  have  you  I don’t  want  anyone.” 

“Don’t  be  absurd,”  she  replied.  “Marriages  are  not 
lotteries  in  these  days.  When  you  see  how  beautifully 


160 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


science  governs  the  marital  relation,  you’ll  feel  different- 

iy.” 

“When  I see !”  I exclaimed  bitterly.  “When  shall  I 
see  anything  outside  this  room?  I am  as  stiff  as  a poker. 
I wonder  that  you  do  not  call  a doctor — ” 

“Call  a what?” 

“A  doctor.” 

“What  for?” 

“To  cure  me,  of  course.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you 
have  no  doctors?” 

“I  never  even  heard  of  such  a thing.” 

“What  do  you  do  when  you  are  sick?” 

“We  are  never  sick,  unless  we  have  sinned,  and  no  one 
can  cure  us  of  that  except  ourselves.  Why  don’t  you 
commune  with  your  sub-conscious  personality?” 

That  was  the  straw  that  broke  the  camel’s  back.  It 
was  enough  to  make  any  man  swear,  and  I did  it  vigor- 
ously. A blue  smoke  arose  from  my  lips,  spelling  each 
word  in  fantastic  letters,  and  when  it  cleared  away  I saw 
that  I was  alone.  Evidently  it  had  been  more  than  my 
fair  companion  could  stand. 

“I  don’t  care!”  I growled  savagely.  “I’m  glad  she’s 
gone.  She  was  crazy,  without  a doubt,  and  I should  have 
told  her  so  long  ago  had  she  not  been  so  very  pretty.” 
But  I was  destined  to  learn  that  Miss  Cameron,  for 
that  was  the  young  lady’s  name,  was  not  crazy  in  the 
least.  What  she  told  me  was  only  too  true,  and  the  worst 
of  it  all  was  that  I could  not  have  revenge  on  Runjeet 
Singh,  for  he  had  given  up  his  borrowed  body  soon  after 
proving  his  point  regarding  my  resurrection  and  had 
gone  to  a more  congenial  planet.  I was  told  that  he  left 
a memorandum  for  the  benefit  of  his  devotees,  telling 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


161 


them  where  he  expected  to  be  on  certain  dates,  that  there 
might  be  an  exchange  of  thought  waves  between  them. 
He  intended  visiting  the  moon  first,  then  Mars.  I’ve  for- 
gotten the  order  in  which  the  other  planets  were  men- 
tioned ; but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

I had  not  remained  alone  in  my  helplessness  a great 
while  when  Miss  Seamans,  of  the  earthly  domain,  called 
upon  me.  She  seemed  to  me  so  much  more  beautiful  than 
Miss  Cameron — bah  ! — more  beautiful  than  any  woman 
I had  ever  seen,  that  I worshipped  her  at  once,  and  I 
think  I did  not  allow  many  minutes  to  pass  before  telling 
her  so. 

“I  think  it  will  prove  as  you  say,”  she  replied  sweetly. 
“Tm  sure  you’ll  be  glad  to  know  that  I have  Jupiter  in 
the  seventh  house.  It  does  grieve  me,  though,  to  know 
that  the  sun  is  afflicted  by  Mars  and  square  to  Jupiter ; but 
we’ll  be  happy  again  when  we’re  reunited  on  the  other 
side.” 

“What  do  you  mean?  What  is  indicated  when  Mars 
squares  off  to  Jupiter,  on  the  sun?” 

“Why,  don’t  you  know?  That  signifies  the  death  of 
my  husband.” 

“Oh  ! Well,  my  dear,  under  the  circumstances,  do  you 
think  it  would  be  wise  for  us  to  marry?” 

“Why  not?  The  sun,  with  you,  is  so  afflicted  by  the 
malefics  that  your  body  must  become  uninhabitable  in  a 
few  years  anyhow.” 

It  was  certainly  a philosophical  way  to  look  at  it,  and 
I did  my  best  to  accustom  myself  to  the  thought.  If  I 
had  got  to  die  anyhow,  I might  as  well  do  so  as  the  hus- 
band of  the  peerless  Miss  Seamans,  and  I think  I made 


L62 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


myself  quite  clear  on  the  subject,  and  not  entirely  unsat- 
isfactory. 

“Now,”  said  my  affianced,  “I  have  been  told  just  how 
ignorant  you  are,  and  I am  going  to  teach  you.  I must 
first  teach  you  to  cure  yourself.  In  these  days  it  is  a re- 
proach to  be  sick.  Of  course,  you  did  not  know  that; 
but  now  I have  told  you,  you  must  bestir  yourself  at  once. 
Do  you  know,  there  is  not  a person  among  my  acquaint- 
ances under  seventy-five  who  would  think  of  lying  abed 
like  this?” 

“If  they  were  as  stiff  as  I am — ” 

“Hush ! it  will  do  you  no  good  to  repeat  that.” 

“But  can’t  you  see  that  a fellow  who  ha-s  been  in  one 
position  for  one  hundred  and  twentv-six  years  might 
be—” 

“Don’t!  Please  don’t!”  and  a dainty  finger  was  laid 
across  my  lips  and  two  pleading  brown  eyes  looked  into 
mine. 

“All  right,  I won’t;  but  will  you  please  tell  me  what  I 
may  do?” 

“Think  what  a nice  long  rest  you’ve  had ! More  than 
a hundred  years  of  sweet  dreamless  sleep ! Isn’t  it  won- 
derful? How  thankful  you  should  be ! But  now  you  are 
rested  you  should  get  up  and  go  about  your  work.” 

“My  work!”  I repeated,  interrupting  her  enthusiastic 
discourse.  “Has  that  been  waiting  for  me  all  these 
years?” 

“What  was  it  you  were  doing?” 

“I  had  just  opened  a cigar  shop,  and  I had  added  a 
fine  stock  of  candies.  You  see,  it  would  be  difficult  for 
the  ordinary  observer  to  know  whether  the  small  boy 
came  to  purchase  candy  or  tobacco.  There  was  not  an- 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


163 


other  shop  like  it  in  the  city.  I had  everything  in  my 
own  hands,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Runjeet  Singh — " 

“If  it  hadn't  been  for  Runjeet  Singh  you  would  never 
have  known  me,"  interrupted  my  charming  Marguerite. 

I was  silenced  at  once. 

“And  now,"  she  continued,  “you  must  put  that  tobacco 
store  out  of  your  mind,  with  all  your  other  sins.  You 
are  given  a blessed  opportunity  to  begin  life  anew,  and 
the  world  is  crowded  with  worthy  work  that  must  be 
done,  for  the  burdens  arising  from  the  unholy  marriages 
of  the  last  century  have  not  yet  been  entirely  lifted. 
Come !" 

Marguerite  held  out  her  hand,  fully  expecting  to  be 
able  to  assist  me  to  my  feet ; but,  although  I longed  to  do 
so,  I could  not  move  a muscle. 

“Help  me,"  I cried,  in  the  abandonment  of  despair. 
“For  Heaven's  sake,  help  me  or  kill  me ! I can  endure 
this  no  longer." 

She  stooped  over  me,  gently  making  passes  above  my 
head.  Her  lips  moved  silently.  Her  very  soul  shone 
from  her  eyes  in  an  agony  of  entreaty.  Five,  ten,  fifteen 
minutes  passed — minutes  that  are  engraven  on  my  soul — 
minutes  that  will  go  with  me  into  eternity. 

“Now,  come !"  she  said,  in  a low,  thrilling  voice  that 
seemed  to  start  the  blood  moving  in  my  shrunken  veins. 
“Come,  my  love ; we  will  go  to  begin  life  together. 
Come !" 

Shall  I ever  forget  the  lingering  sweetness  of  that  last 
word ! It  thrilled  my  dead  bones  to  the  marrow,  and  I 
felt  my  sluggish  heart  leap  within  me. 

“It  is  life !"  I shouted  exultantly.  “My  beloved,  you 
are  giving  me  life !" 


164 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


“Come,”  she  repeated,  and  again  she  held  out  her  hand. 

Oh,  God,  how  I tried  to  take  it!  I strove  until  it 
seemed  to  me  that  my  soul  was  wrenching  itself  from  its 
tenement  of  clay.  The  agony  was  intense.  I felt  as  if 
coals  of  fire  burned  in  my  eye-sockets.  It  seemed  as  if 
my  entire  body  was  a hollow  cylinder,  and  sensitive,  oh, 
how  sensitive ! and  that  sharp  rocks  of  seething  lava  were 
being  churned  within  me,  with  a heavy,  constant  dash, 
dash,  that  sent  sharp,  spluttering  drops  of  the  molten  lava 
over  every  quivering  nerve.  But  I endured  it  bravely. 
I am  sure  I did,  for  suffering  meant  life,  and  life  meant 
action.  There  was  work  to  be  done.  Ah,  what  a priv- 
ilege to  help  do  it!  And  there  was  Marguerite! 

“Come !”  she  repeated  for  the  third  time.  The  beau- 
tiful hand  was  still  extended,  but  the  light  of  hope  that 
had  shone  in  the  dark  eyes  was  slowly,  slowly  giving 
place  to  a dreadful  look  of  anxiety. 

I struggled  desperately,  but  I could  move  neither  hand 
nor  foot.  Not  so  much  as  the  tenth  part  of  an  inch  could 
I move.  With  the  exception  of  my  brain  I was  utterly, 
hopelessly,  dead. 

“Put  a ten  dollar  gold  piece  on  the  table,”  drawled  a 
cynical  voice  outside  the  window.  “Tell  him  he  can  have 
it  if  he  will  pick  it  up.  I’m  sure  the  spirit  of  the  nineteenth 
century  cannot  resist  that.” 

Marguerite  went  to  the  window. 

“Who  speaks?”  she  asked  in  astonishment.  “I  see  no 
one.  If  you  can  help  us,  oh,  come  quickly !” 

Then  a marvelous  thing  came  to  pass  before  my  unac- 
customed eyes.  A puff  of  smoke,  from  a neighboring 
chimney  as  I supposed,  was  blown  through  the  open 
window.  It  gathered,  black  and  dense,  beside  my  bed, 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


16b 


then  grew  luminous,  and  slowly  from  its  shifting  folds 
there  emerged  the  form  of  Runjeet  Singh.  Marguerite 
gazed  at  him  without  recognition,  for  he  had  assumed 
his  old  form  and  looked  exactly  as  I had  seen  him  so 
many  years  before. 

“It  is  Runjeet  Singh,”  I said  to  her,  and  then  to  him, 
“Oh,  Master ! I pray  you  make  me  as  you  found  me.” 

The  shade  of  Runjeet  Singh  paid  not  the  slightest  at- 
tention to  my  wail  of  distress,  but  turned  to  Marguerite, 
his  brilliant  eyes  softened  by  tender  compassion. 

“My  child,”  he  said,  “you’d  better  give  him  up.  He 
is  the  incarnation  of  the  nineteenth  century — material, 
disgustingly  material ! That  was  the  age  of  gold,  you 
remember.  Nothing  was  held  superior  to  the  shining 
metal.  It  was  believed  that  even  Heaven  might  be  bought 
with  gold.  Imagine  such  a condition,  if  you  can,  and 
you  will  not  wonder  that  this  poor  fellow  is  as  you  see 
him.  They  were  all  so  in  that  day.  They  all  suffered,  as 
he  is  suffering  now,  as  he  must  still  suffer,  before  they 
softened  the  metallic  substance  in  which  they  have  en- 
cased their  soul.  Why  should  you  suffer,  too,  Marguer- 
ite? It  is  not  necessary.” 

Marguerite  looked  at  him  with  clear  brown  eyes,  in 
which  the  shadow  of  a hidden  resolution  was  slowly  tak- 
ing shape. 

“Must  he  bear  much  of  such  pain  as  this  before  he 
can  arise?”  she  asked. 

“Much  more,  and  worse.” 

“But  eventually  he  will  conquer  this  dreadful  rigidity?” 

“Should  he  persevere  he  may  conquer  it  while  still  in 
the  flesh.  If  not,  he  must  do  so  when  the  spirit  has  left 
the  body,  and  then  the  pain  will  be  no  less  intense.” 


166 


A SCIENTIFIC  COURTSHIP. 


“Then  I will  stay  with  him,  Runjeet  Singh.  I will  en- 
courage him,  help  him,  love  him,  suffer  with  him  if  nec- 
essary; but  I will  never  leave  him.  He  shall  be  victo- 
rious. We  shall  yet  know  happiness  together.” 

Runjeet  Singh  looked  at  her  searchingly,  piercingiy, 
but  the  sweet  eyes  did  not  waver. 

“You  will  do  it,”  he  muttered,  “and  there  will  be  vic- 
tory. Blessed  is  the  man  who  wins  the  love  of  such  a 
woman — thrice  blessed  when  he  is  worthy  of  it.” 

The  heavy  cloud  slowly  enfolded  Runjeet  Singh.  A 
light  breeze,  wandering  through  the  window,  dispersed 
it.  Runjeet  Singh  was  gone. 

Marguerite  bent  over  me,  her  face  shining  with  hope 
and  courage. 

“Come,  my  love,”  she  said ; “you  have  had  a nice  rest ; 
now  make  one  more  effort.  Never  mind  the  pain  ! See ! 
Here  is  my  hand;  I am  waiting  to  help  you.” 


MR.  -DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


167 


Mr*  Dillingham's  Correspondent* 


When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dillingham  married,  it  was  their 
intention  to  live  together.  So  strong  was  this  intention 
that  it  led  each  to  incur  the  displeasure  of  near  and  dear 
relatives  for  the  sake  of  the  other ; yet  at  the  close  of  the 
third  year  of  their  wedded  life  they  were  occupying  sep- 
arate apartments,  removed  from  each  other  by  nearly  a 
mile  of  the  bustling  city  in  which  they  had  started  to 
build  up  a home. 

In  all  probability  they  would  never  have  separated, 
except  at  the  call  of  the  grim  reaper,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  Society  of  Automatic  Writers.  Mr.  Dillingham 
had  been  married  nearly  two  years  when  he  became  a 
member  of  this  society.  His  interest  had  been  excited 
when  first  he  heard  of  it.  On  his  return  from  the  first 
meeting  he  had  attended,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  try 
his  own  powers  of  passivity.  Who  knew  but  his  hand 
might  become  very  useful  to  his  absent  friends,  as  an 
organ  of  telepathy! 

A writing  tablet  lay  on  the  table  beside  him.  He  held 
a pencil  lightly  over  it,  and  became  as  passive  as  possible, 
and  waited.  He  was  almost  discouraged,  and  had  de- 
cided to  give  it  up,  when  he  felt  a queer  sensation  along 
his  arm,  and  a growing  numbness  in  his  passive  fingers. 


168 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


The  pencil  moved.  He  was  sure  that  it  had  passed  from 
his  own  control.  It  traced  long,  irregular  scrawls  on  the 
paper,  like  a baby's  attempt  at  writing.  He  felt  that  his 
hand  was  controlled  by  another  as  if  it  were  being  guided 
by  one  who  moved  it  from  the  forearm. 

Faster  and  faster  it  moved,  and  he  could  see  that  the 
wavering  lines  were  forming  themselves  into  letters, 
which  gradually  became  quite  distinct.  When  he  could 
see  that  words  were  being  written,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
that  he  might  not,  unintentionally,  guide  his  pencil,  and 
not  until  his  hand  became  quiet  did  he  look  at  the  paper 
before  him.  It  was  covered  with  a communication  in  fine 
penmanship,  with  sharply  pointed  letters,  as  unlike  as  pos- 
sible to  his  own.  This  is  what  he  read: 

“I  am  interested  in  the  published  accounts  of  the  work 
done  by  the  Society  of  Automatic  Writers,  and  have  de- 
cided to  send  this  thought  on,  hoping  that  it  may  secure 
me  a correspondent  from  somewhere.  I am  residing  in 
an  English  village  in  Simla,  India. — Esther  Mayo.” 

Mr.  Dillingham  did  not  lose  his  presence  of  mind,  but 
immediately  concentrated  his  will  power  on  an  effort  to 
project  his  thought  to  Simla.  If  he  were  successful,  and 
Esther  Mayo  could  attain  the  proper  degree  of  passivity, 
she  would  soon  be  tracing  words  which  should  tell  her 
that  her  communication  had  been  received,  and  that  he 
was  most  anxious  to  learn  more  concerning  her. 

He  concluded  not  to  go  to  bed  until  sufficient  time 
had  elapsed  to  allow  of  a reply  from  his  new  correspond- 
ent. There  was  not  a shadow  of  a doubt  in  his  mind  that 
there  was  such  a place  as  Simla  in  India,  and  that  a per- 
son named  Esther  Mayo  was  living  there.  It  pleased  him 
to  imagine  her  to  be  young,  pretty,  and  in  every  way  at- 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


169 


tractive.  While  he  waited,  he  wondered  if  he  were  in 
duty  bound  to  lay  before  the  Society  of  Automatic  Writ- 
ers the  result  of  his  experiment  and  finally  concluded  to 
say  nothing  until  he  had  learned  more  of  his  fair  corre- 
spondent. If  she  were  young  and  attractive,  it  would  be 
wise  as  well  as  pleasant  to  keep  her  existence  a secret. 

An  hour  passed  before  Mr.  Dillingham  felt  impelled  to 
take  his  pencil  and  make  himself  passive.  In  just  six 
minutes  his  hand  began  to  write,  and  he  closed  his  eyes 
until  it  again  became  motionless,  then  he  read: 

“It  was  a success.  Thank  God!  Now  this  dreadful 
loneliness  will  be  less  hard  to  bear.  I am  an  orphan,  nine- 
teen years  of  age.  At  the  death  of  my  parents,  my  uncle 
was  appointed  my  guardian.  He  has  squandered  my 
property,  and  now,  when  I am  nearing  my  twenty-first 
birthday,  he  desires  my  death,  that  I may  take  no  steps  to 
bring  him  to  justice.  I have  never  been  allowed  com- 
panionship or  freedom.  I have  plenty  to  eat,  plenty  to 
wear,  and  plenty  to  read  ; but  for  three  years  I have  been 
a prisoner  behind  iron  bars,  on  the  top  floor  of  his  coun- 
try residence  a few  miles  from  Simla.  He  is  my  only 
relative  in  India.  My  other  relatives  and  all  my  friends 
suppose  me  to  be  dead,  for  so  he  wrote  them  soon  after 
bringing  me  here.  I wish  some  of  them  could  be  induced 
to  join  your  society ; but  they  have  not  yet  risen  above 
the  level  of  those  who  believe  nothing  that  is  not  revealed 
to  them  by  the  evidence  of  their  five  senses.  I wish  you 
would  write  me  regularly.  Shall  we  not  give  an  hour 
to  each  other  at  this  time  every  day? — Esther  Mayo.” 

Is  it  surprising  that  Mr.  Dillingham  replied  “yes”  to 
that  request?  It  strikes  me  that  there  are  few  of  us  who, 
having  gone  thus  far,  would  not  wish  to  go  a little  farther. 


170 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


Mr.  Dillingham’s  mistake  lay  in  concealing  his  inten- 
tions from  Mrs.  Dillingham. 

Mr.  Dillingham’s  reticence  was  not  entirely  due  to  the 
fact  that  this  strange  correspondent  was  a young  lady. 
That  might  have  had  something  to  do  with  it,  but  not 
everything.  Since  the  second  month  of  his  married  life 
Mr.  Dillingham  had  been  very  careful  not  to  tell  his  wife 
anything  about  himself  which  he  did  not  wish  her  mother 
and  sister  to  know.  He  firmly  believed  that  a woman 
was  constitutionally  bound  to  tell  all  she  knew  about  her 
husband  to  her  nearest  and  dearest  relatives,  more  espe- 
cially if  her  knowledge  would  be  likely  to  put  him  in  a 
ridiculous  or  unmanly  light. 

This  opinion  was  first  impressed  on  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Dillingham  by  his  chancing  to  overhear  his  wife  recount 
as  a “good  joke”  a little  circumstance  in  which  he  had 
shown  himself  so  simple  that  he  could  never  recall  it  with- 
out a scarlet  blush  and  a whispered  oath.  He  had  indig- 
nantly taken  Mrs.  Dillingham  to  task  for  telling  every- 
thing she  knew,  and  she  had  tearfully  protested  that  she 
had  not  for  a moment  supposed  that  he  would  care  about 
so  trifling  an  afifair.  He  had  then  decided  that,  if  she  con- 
sidered such  an  affair  trifling,  and  was  determined  to  cry 
if  not  permitted  to  repeat  all  trifling  affairs  to  her  female 
relatives,  it  would  be  wiser  to  keep  to  himself  everything 
which  he  was  not  quite  willing  should  be  classed  under 
that  head. 

The  occult  sciences  were,  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Dilling- 
ham’s mother,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  sly  sugges- 
tions from  his  satanic  majesty,  and  the  members  of  this 
good  lady’s  family  who  dared  to  entertain  opinions  dif- 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


171 


ferent  from  her  own  were  not  in  a position  to  enjoy  un- 
broken peace. 

There  were  times  when  Mr.  Dillingham  sincerely  re- 
gretted that  Mrs.  Maybury  had  concluded  to  forgive  her 
daughter  for  marrying  him.  He  said  that  her  opinion 
had  no  weight  whatever,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  yet 
he  was  careful  that  she  should  not  know  how  interested 
he  had  become  in  automatic  writing.  Perhaps,  had  Mr. 
Dillingham  known  why  his  mother-in-law  entertained 
such  antipathy  toward  the  occult  sciences,  he  might  not 
have  considered  it,  as  he  did,  only  one  more  proof  of  her 
stupendous  ignorance.  He  could  not  know,  for  she  never 
told  it,  that,  before  Mrs.  Dillingham  was  born,  she  had 
been  told  by  a clairvoyant  that  she  was  soon  to  give  birth 
to  a boy  who  would  be  able  to  live  without  a stomach, 
and  that  he  would  travel  with  a circus,  and  be  the  means 
of  bringing  her  a great  fortune.  The  good  lady  did  not 
want  such  a son,  but  if  she  must  have  him,  and  she  firmly 
believed  she  must,  why,  she  wanted  the  money  also ; and 
so,  not  to  be  anticipated  by  any  other  mother  who  might 
have  such  a son,  she  wrote  at  once  to  Barnum,  asking 
him  to  make  her  an  offer.  The  showman,  supposing  the 
child  to  be  already  born,  sent  an  agent  to  investigate. 
He  arrived  ten  minutes  after  the  present  Mrs.  Dillingham 
came  into  the  world.  The  visit  was  most  unsatisfactory 
to  all  concerned,  and  rendered  it  quite  impossible  for  Mrs. 
Maybury  ever  again  to  put  faith  in  anything  of  that  sort, 
not  emphatically  endorsed  by  her  pastor.  The  trouble 
lay  in  her  belief  that  the  members  of  her  family  should 
accept  her  opinions  without  having  passed  through  the 
experiences  which  led  her  to  adopt  them,  or  even  without 
being  allowed  to  know  of  such  experiences.  All  things 


172  MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 

considered,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham decided  to  say  nothing  about  Esther  Mayo ; yet,  as 
I have  said,  it  would  have  been  wiser  had  he  not  done  so. 

During  the  next  few  weeks,  Mr.  Dillingham’s  habits 
were  astonishingly  regular.  No  matter  where  he  might 
be  spending  his  evening,  or  how  much  he  might  be  en- 
joying himself,  he  always  excused  himself  in  time  to  be 
at  home  at  eleven  o’clock.  He  then  told  his  wife  that  he 
had  work  to  do,  and  wished  to  be  alone,  and  ten  minutes 
later  he  would  be  seated  beside  his  library  table,  his  pencil 
in  his  hand,  and  his  writing  tablet  open  before  him. 

Every  communication  from  Esther  Mayo  had  been 
carefully  preserved.  On  the  lower  left  hand  corner  of 
each  he  had  written  the  date  of  its  arrival.  On  several, 
he  had  made  a note  of  the  thought  he  had  sent  in  reply, 
and  not  a few  of  these  thoughts  were  of  an  extremely 
ardent  nature.  Mr.  Dillingham  liked  to  read  them  over 
and  over  again,  and  try  to  imagine  how  the  lovely  Esther 
looked  when  her  hand  penned  such  and  such  a message. 

‘Til  bet  she  blushed,  here,”  he  would  say  to  himself, 
“and  this  brought  the  smiles  to  her  lips ! I shouldn’t  be 
surprised  if  this  made  her  a little  spunky,  and  like  as  not 
she  threw  the  paper  down  and  set  her  pretty  foot  upon 
it ; but  when  she  received  this  she  knew,  of  course,  that 
I was  only  joking.  I wonder  if  she  was  pleased  when  I 
told  her  that  I loved  her?  I wish  she  could  be  persuaded 
t©  answer  a direct  question.  What  a coy  little  creature 
she  must  be !” 

As  may  be  seen,  Mr.  Dillingham’s  correspondent  gave 
him  abundant  food  for  reflection,  and  was  a source  of 
great  happiness. 

> Thoughts  of  what  she  had  last  written  and  what  he 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


173 


should  next  say  filled  his  mind  so  completely  that  he 
could  give  his  attention  to  little  else.  His  friends  watched 
him  anxiously,  fearing  that  he  was  about  to  become  the 
victim  of  some  disorder  of  the  brain.  Fred  Maybury,  his 
wife’s  brother,  even  went  so  far  as  to  question  him  about 
his  symptoms,  but  to  every  question  Mr.  Dillingham  re- 
plied that  he  had  never  been  so  well  in  his  life.  He  was 
particularly  short  in  his  replies  to  Fred,  for  once  during 
the  process  of  questioning  that  young  man  had  asked 
him  if  he  were  not  subject  to  strange  hallucinations,  and 
had  advised  him  to  go  to  bed  at  half  past  ten  every  night. 
He  had  said  this  with  a meaning  expression  of  his  bright, 
black  eyes  that  had  made  Mr.  Dillingham  strangely  nerv- 
ous. If  Fred  had  not  been  the  son  of  his  mother,  with 
her  opinions  firmly  engrafted  on  his  mind,  he  would 
have  been  tempted  to  think  that  his  brother-in-law  had 
not  been  in  earnest  when  he  had  expressed  his  contempt 
for  the  occult  sciences,  and  that  he  was  not  unaware  of 
the  truths  demonstrated  by  the  Society  of  Automatic 
Writers.  It  made  Mr.  Dillingham  quite  sick  when  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  perhaps  Fred  also  was  in  com- 
munication with  Esther  Mayo.  He  had  no  proof  that  he 
was  her  only  correspondent.  He  had  asked  her,  repeat- 
edly, whether  she  wrote  to  anyone  else ; but  she  always 
evaded  this,  as  she  did  all  other  questions.  There  were 
times  when  he  was  tempted  to  believe  that  his  thought 
did  not  reach  her  at  all ; but  her  next  communication 
was  sure  to  convince  him  that  he  was  wrong.  Of  one 
thing  he  was  certain,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  charm- 
ing Esther  had  given  her  fresh  young  heart  into  his  keep- 
ing. The  thought  afforded  him  as  much  pleasure  as  pain. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  Anna,  his  wife — but  it  was  for 


174 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


Anna ! Mr.  Dillingham  did  not  want  to  desert  Anna ; he 
did  not  want  to  lose  her  love ; he  did  not  want  her  to  feel 
that  he  was  deserving  of  reproach  ; he  did  want  things  to 
go  on,  so  far  as  he  and  she  were  concerned,  just  as  they 
had  been  going  on — but  if  it  were  not  for  Anna,  he  knew 
that  he  should  go  at  once  to  the  rescue  of  Esther.  He 
spent  many  pleasant  hours  in  thinking  out  the  details  of 
a trip  to  India,  of  his  meeting  with  Esther,  of  their  flight 
together,  and  of  their  prosecution  of  the  unfeeling  uncle. 
He  never  got  much  farther  than  this  in  his  day  dreams. 
Sometimes  he  would  think  of  himself  in  foreign  lands 
with  Esther ; but  even  in  the  most  daring  flights  of  his 
imagination  he  could  not  bring  his  fair  correspondent  to 
America — the  home  of  Anna  and  Anna’s  relatives. 

In  an  evil  moment  Mr.  Dillingham  went  to  a clairvoy- 
ant, hoping  that  she  might  be  able  to  tell  him  something 
more  about  Esther  than  he  could  glean  from  her  letters. 
He  had  never  believed  in  clairvoyance,  and  had  unhes- 
itatingly proclaimed  his  idea  that  anyone  who  pretended 
to  be  able  to  look  into  the  future  was  a fraud  and  a liar. 
He  would  have  added  “and  possessed  of  the  devil”  had 
he  not  known  that  such  an  admission  would  give  Mrs. 
Maybury  great  joy,  and  he  said  that  he  was  not  sent  into 
this  world  to  add  to  the  pleasure  of  his  mother-in-law. 
He  studiously  refrained  from  doing  anything  whatsoever 
which  might  go  to  show  that  he  had  mistaken  his  mission 
in  life  regarding  that  individual. 

It  is  but  a step  from  one  branch  of  the  mysterious  to 
another,  and  any  one  who  had  known  that  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham had  become  a member  of  the  Society  of  Automatic 
Writers  would  not  have  hesitated  to  stake  a large  sum 
of  money  on  the  assertion  that  he,  notwithstanding  his 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


175 


sneers  at  clairvoyance,  would  within  six  months  be  stand- 
ing knocking  for  admission  at  the  door  of  a clairvoyant. 
They  would  not  have  lost  their  money.  Mr.  Dillingham 
chose  a clairvoyant  living  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
that  he  might  be  as  far  as  possible  from  the  streets  fre- 
quented by  his  acquaintances.  He  did  not  wish  to  be 
seen  standing  at  the  door  of  such  a person.  He  glanced 
hastily  around  to  make  sure  that  he  had  not  been  fol- 
lowed; but  he  failed  to  see  the  familiar  form  of  his 
brother-in-law  hiding  behind  a tree  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street. 

“My  dear  sir,”  said  the  clairvoyant,  when,  at  last,  he 
found  himself  seated  opposite  her  in  a little  closet-like 
room,  “I  see  crape  on  your  hat.  There  will  be  a death 
in  your  family  before  very  long.  I think  it  will  be  your 
wife.” 

“How  soon?”  asked  Mr.  Dillingham,  faintly.  He  had 
not  thought  to  hear  anything  like  this,  and  he  wished  he 
had  not  come. 

“In  about  a year,  I should  say,”  replied  the  clairvoyant. 

“Are  you  sure  it  is  my  wife?  May  it  not  be  my  mother- 
in-law?  She  has  rheumatism — ” 

“It  is  not  your  mother-in-law.  I see  that  lady  plainly. 
She  is  large  and  strong.  She  will  live  many  years  yet, 
and  she  will  not  desert  you ; but  you  will  not  have  your 
wife  long.” 

The  clairvoyant  then  proceeded  to  give  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham an  idea  of  his  own  characteristics.  He  had  thought 
that  he  knew  himself  pretty  well ; but  she  succeeded  in 
impressing  him  with  the  belief  that  he  was  a great  deal 
better  fellow  than  he  had  supposed  himself  to  be;  but 
that  he  had  not  yet  been  well  understood.  There  was 


176 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT 


something  within  himself  that  told  him  she  had  hit  it  ex- 
actly. She  ended  by  assuring  him  that  he  was  destined 
to  be  rich,  honored,  happy,  famous,  and  beloved  by  his 
countrymen,  and  he  paid  her  a dollar  and  left  without 
having  heard  one  word  about  Esther  Mayo.  Indeed,  it 
must  be  said  to  his  credit  that  the  news  that  he  was  so 
soon  to  lose  his  wife  had  driven  all  thought  of  Esther 
from  his  mind  for  the  moment. 

Mr.  Dillingham  did  not  want  his  wife  to  die.  He  could 
not  be  surer  of  anything  than  he  was  of  that,  and  when 
he  got  back  to  his  office  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  wept  bitterly  at  the  thought  of  the  great  bereavement 
in  store  for  him.  He  was  so  busily  engaged  in  this,  to 
him,  unusual  exercise,  that  he  failed  to  hear  his  door 
open  and  close  again,  and  did  not  know  that  he  was  not 
alone  until  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  brother-in-law. 

“My  stars !”  exclaimed  Fred,  in  undisguised  astonish- 
ment. “What  can  ail  the  man?” 

Mr.  Dillingham  raised  his  head  quickly,  and  tried  to 
look  as  if  he  had  been  overcome  with  amusement. 

“You  here,  Fred?”  he  said,  with  a pitiful  attempt  at 
nonchalance.  “I  have  laughed  over  this  ridiculous  letter 
until  I have  actually  cried.  It  is  the  funniest  thing  I ever 
read  in  my  life.”  As  he  spoke  he  caught  up  a letter  which 
had  been  lying  idle  on  the  desk,  and  shoved  it  into  the 
envelope ; but  not  before  the  quick-eyed  Fred  had  seen 
that  it  was  from  a business  acquaintance  who  could  not 
have  written  anything  funny  if  he  would,  and  would  not 
if  he  could. 

“Let’s  hear  it,”  he  said.  “It  isn’t  fair  for  you  to  keep 
all  the  good  things  to  yourself.” 

“It  has  something  to  do  with  his  private  affairs,”  replied 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


171 


Mr.  Dillingham,  evasively,  “and  I am  not  at  liberty  to 
show  it  now.  You  shall  see  it  later  on.  Won't  you  be 
seated,  Fred?” 

“No,  thanks;  can't  stay  but  a moment.  Say,  old  chap, 
let's  go  to  the  meeting  of  the  Society  of  Automatic  Writ- 
ers, to-night.  I have  an  acquaintance  who  is  a member, 
and  I'm  sure  I can  get  him  to  give  us  cards.” 

Mr.  Dillingham  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement,  and, 
in  the  few  seconds  that  elapsed  before  he  regained  his 
speech,  he  did  a great  deal  of  thinking.  He  could  not  go 
to  the  meeting  with  Fred,  for  then  that  young  man  would 
discover  that  he  was  a member  of  the  society,  and  that 
was  precisely  what  he  did  not  want  any  member  of  his 
wife's  family  to  know.  He  felt  that  he  must  do  every- 
thing in  his  power  to  prevent  Fred  from  going  at  all, 
but  he  must  not  arouse  that  young  man's  suspicions  by 
appearing  over  anxious.  If  Fred  should  go,  there  was  no 
knowing  but  that  he  might  become  so  infatuated  as  to  join 
the  society  himself,  which  would,  of  course,  prevent  Mr. 
Dillingham's  further  attendance.  And  even  a hasty  with- 
drawal from  the  society,  before  Fred  should  be  admitted, 
might  not  prevent  that  young  man  from  discovering  that 
he  had  been  a member.  These  thoughts,  and  many  more 
of  a like  nature,  flitted  through  Mr.  Dillingham's  mind 
during  that  short  period  of  silence.  Meanwhile  Fred 
watched  him  narrowly. 

“Well,”  he  said  finally,  “do  you  agree  to  go?” 

“What  would  your  mother  say?”  inquired  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham, gravely. 

“She  need  know  nothing  about  it;  neither  need  Anna. 
I don't  see  why  we  should  consider  ourselves  bound  to 
tell  them  everything  we  know,  do  you?” 


178 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT 


“No,”  said  Mr.  Dillingham,  thoughtfully,  “perhaps 
not.”  Then  he  recovered  himself.  “The  fact  is,”  he  said, 
“I  should  not  like  to  have  my  wife  go  to  a place  of  that 
sort.”  It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  Mr.  Dillingham  that 
the  wisest  way  for  him  was  to  assume  a tone  of  high 
morality,  even  bordering  on  austerity.  He  could  do  that 
well,  especially  in  the  presence  of  those  younger  than 
himself.  Fred  was  nearly  ten  years  younger,  and  besides 
he  had  no  father.  Mr.  Dillingham  felt  that  now  was  the 
time  for  him  to  show  a fatherly  interest  in  his  brother- 
in-law. 

“Well,”  resumed  Fred,  somewhat  impatiently,  “I  did 
not  say  anything  about  Anna's  going,  did  I?” 

“No;  but  the  idea  is  this:  have  I a right  to  do  that 
which  I should  not  care  to  have  her  do — worse  yet,  which 
I should  not  care  to  have  her  know?” 

“Fudge  and  nonsense!  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  carry  that  thought  into  your  daily  life?” 

“I  mean  to  tell  you  that  I try  to,”  replied  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham, in  a tone  of  conscious  propriety. 

Mr.  Dillingham  would  have  choked  over  this  statement 
had  he  not  just  returned  from  a clairvoyant  who  had  told 
him  that  he  never  did  a thing  which  he  would  not  care 
to  have  the  world  know.  Since  learning  how  very  soon 
he  was  to  be  called  upon  to  bury  his  wife,  he  had  resolved 
to  do  nothing  to  displease  her,  and  he  quieted  his  con- 
science with  the  thought  that  he  had  used  the  word  “try” 
in  present  time. 

“Oh,  well,”  said  Fred,  carelessly,  “if  you  feel  like  that 
about  it,  I'll  say  no  more.  I hate  to  go  alone,  however.” 
“Why  do  you  go?  Fred,  let  me  ask  you  to  change 
your  mind  about  it.  Let  me  persuade  you  for  the  sake  of 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


179 


your  dear  old  mother.  It  would  grieve  her  and  do  you 
no  good.” 

“I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,”  returned  Fred.  “I’ve 
been  reading  up  in  spiritualism  and  hypnotism  and  psych- 
ical research,  and  all  that  stuff,  and  I begin  to  think  that 
a fellow  can  get  great  fun  in  that  line.  Did  you  ever  go 
to  a clairvoyant,  George?” 

The  question  was  sudden,  but  Mr.  Dillingham  was 
equal  to  the  emergency. 

“Fred,”  he  said,  gravely,  “I  thought  you  had  a better 
opinion  of  me  than  to  ask  a question  like  that.  Do  you 
think  I have  taken  leave  of  my  common  sense?” 

“That  doesn’t  follow,  in  my  opinion.  I know  ever  so 
many  fellows  who  have  been,  and  who  have  quite  as  much 
common  sense  as  the  rest  of  us.  Honest,  now,  George, 
have  you  not  been?” 

“I  have  not.” 

Mr.  Dillingham  told  the  lie  with  a steady  voice,  but 
his  face  reddened  uncomfortably,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  on 
the  paper  knife  with  which  he  was  playing. 

“Hum!  hum-hum!”  Fred  cleared  his  throat  with  im- 
pudent emphasis,  in  the  opinion  of  the  guilty  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham. “Well,”  he  said,  “I  must  be  going.  If  I attend  the 
meeting  to-night,  shall  I tell  you  what  I hear?” 

“As  you  like,”  returned  Mr.  Dillingham,  with  well- 
assumed  indifference. 

Mr.  Dillingham  was  so  unnerved  after  Fred’s  call  that 
he  could  not  turn  his  attention  to  his  work.  He  longed 
to  go  home  and  take  his  Anna  in  his  arms,  and  tell  her 
how  dearly  he  loved  her,  and  how  unhappy  he  should  be 
without  her.  All  the  tenderness  of  the  days  of  his  court- 
ship had  been  brought  back  by  his  fear  that  he  was  about 


180 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


to  lose  her.  At  last  he  could  no  longer  withstand  the 
influence  which  was  urging  him  homeward,  and,  donning 
hat  and  overcoat,  he  was  soon  unlocking  the  door  of  his 
house.  Anna  was  not  at  the  door  to  meet  him.  She  did 
not  come  bounding  down  the  stairs,  as  had  always  been 
her  custom,  when  she  heard  him  enter  the  hall  at  an  un- 
usual hour.  She  was  not  in  the  parlor  with  guests  or  in 
the  sitting  room  with  her  fancy  work,  or  in  her  boudoir 
with  a headache.  She  was  in  the  library.  When  Mr. 
Dillingham  looked  into  that  room  he  saw  her  there,  and 
her  mother  sat  close  beside  her.  They  had  found  the 
communications  from  Esther  Mayo.  They  had  discussed 
them.  Anna’s  eyes  were  red  and  swollen  with  weeping. 
Mrs.  Maybury  glared  at  her  son-in-law  when  he  entered 
the  room,  and  he  thought  that  her  eyes  had  never  more 
closely  resembled  those  of  an  incensed  cat,  although  he 
had  always  considered  the  resemblance  striking. 

“Mr.  Dillingham,”  said  Mrs.  Maybury,  icily,  “will  you 
oblige  me  by  explaining  these  letters?” 

“Madam,”  he  replied,  “will  you  oblige  me  by  telling 
me  by  what  right  you  go  to  my  private  desk.” 

“By  the  right  of  a mother,  sir ! By  the  God-given  right 
of  a mother,  who  cares  more  for  her  daughter’s  happi- 
ness than  for  her  own  peace  of  mind.” 

There  was  a grandiloquence  about  this  statement  that 
staggered  Mr.  Dillingham  for  a moment.  His  usual 
mode  of  warfare  with  his  mother-in-law  was  to  let  her 
alone  as  much  as  possible.  He  fiad  learned  that  he  could 
incense  her  terribly,  and  preserve  his  own  dignity,  by 
ignoring  her  completely  at  those  times  when  she  was 
most  determined  to  reduce  him  to  a state  of  abjection. 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


181 


He  paid  no  further  attention  to  her,  now,  but  turned  to 
his  wife.” 

“Anna,”  he  said,  “when  you  can  give  me  a few  mo- 
ments alone,  I will  endeavor  to  satisfy  your  curiosity.” 
“What  you  have  to  say,”  sobbed  Anna,  “must  be  said 
before  my  mother.” 

“She  will  need  witness—”  began  Mrs.  Maybury. 

“What  in  thunder — ” interrupted  Mr.  Dillingham, 
grasping  his  wife  by  the  shoulders. 

“Take  care,  sir,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maybury.  “Would 
you  add  cruelty  to  the  list  of  your  other  offenses?” 

“I  am  — go  — going  to  — to  get  — a — di-v-o-r-c-e !” 
sobbed  Anna.  “I — I can’t  live — live  with  a man — f mean 
a f-f-fiend — fiend  who  loves — loves  ano-t-h-e-r.” 

“Fiddlesticks !”  exclaimed  Mr.  Dillingham,  “you  don’t 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.” 

“Oh,  of  course  not!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maybury,  with 
intense  sarcasm.  “And  such  sweet  little  notes  as  this 
can  tell  her  nothing.  'Dear  George,  my  life  is  bound  up 
in  yours.  I never  knew  happiness  before,  and  it  is  sweet, 
sweet  V To  which  I see  you  replied  as  follows — ” 

“Drop  that !”  thundered  Mr.  Dillingham. 

“To  which  you  replied,”  continued  the  old  lady,  “ 'Your 
last  letter,  my  darling  Esther — ’ ” 

“Hold  your  tongue,  madam,  or  leave  this  house.” 

“ 'My  darling  Esther,  your  last  sweet  communication 
gives  me  unspeakable  pleasure.  My  heart — ’ ” 

At  this  point,  Mr.  Dillingham  gently,  but  firmly,  led  his 
mother-in-law  to  the  door,  pushed  her  out  into  the  hall, 
and  locked  the  door  behind  her.  Then  he  turned  once 
more  to  his  weeping  wife  who,  but  a few  moments  before, 


182 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


he  had  longed  to  take  in  nis  arms.  He  did  not  feel  quite 
so  lover-like  now. 

“Anna,”  he  said,  “I  hope  you  will  realize  the  extent  of 
your  own  folly  when  I tell  you  that  I wrote  all  those  let- 
ters myself.” 

“Why,  George  Dillingham,  what  an  awful  lie ! What 
you  have  been  doing  is  bad  enough — but  to  lie  about  it ! 
Oh,  my,  what  is  going  to  come  from  all  this ! I wish  I 
were  dead !” 

Mr.  Dillingham  was  about  to  reply  that  he  echoed  the 
wish,  but  he  suddenly  remembered  how  short  a time  she 
had  to  live,  and  his  heart  grew  tender  again. 

“Anna,  my  dear  little  girl — ” 

“Don’t  dear — little — girl  me  ! I hate  you  !” 

“But  you  must  let  me  explain.  Can’t  you  see  that  the 
paper  on  which  these  notes  are  written  has  been  torn  from 
my  writing  tablet?  See  here,  dear!  Don’t  you  see  how 
nicely  they  fit?  That  ought  to  convince  you  of  the  truth 
of  what  I am  saying.” 

“George  Dillingham,  do  you  think  I am  such  a fool  as 
to  imagine  that  there  are  no  writing  tablets  of  this  size, 
except  yours?” 

“But  if  I should  show  you  that  there  is  a note  for  every 
leaf  torn  from — ” 

“I  should  know,”  interrupted  his  wife,  “that  you  had 
answered  every  note  you  received.” 

“But,  Anna,  can  you  not  see  that  these  sheets  have 
never  been  folded  to  fit  an  envelope?  See,  there  are  no 
creases  in  them.” 

“I  presume  you  have  ironed  them  out.  A man  who  can 
write  such  letters  to  a woman  not  his  wife,  is  capable  of 
anything.” 


A TWENTIETH  CENTURY  ROMANCE. 


183 


“Mrs.  Dillingham,  you  shall  hear  my  explanation. 
I — ” 

“Mr.  Dillingham,  I have  just  received  a letter  which 
makes  any  explanation  on  your  part  quite  unnecessary.” 
“A  letter  ! What — what — who — ” 

“I  found  one  of  your  darling  Esther’s  loving  notes  on 
the  floor  several  days  ago,  and  sent  it  to  a man  who  reads 
character  from  handwriting.” 

“Ah !”  Mr.  Dillingham  spoke  the  word  as  ironically 
as  possible ; but,  notwithstanding  the  cutting  sarcasm  of 
his  wife’s  words,  he  was  greatly  interested  in  what  she 
had  said.  He  hoped  she  would  tell  him  what  she  had 
learned. 

“Yes,”  continued  Mrs.  Dillingham,  “I  know  all  about 
it.”  She  drew  a letter  from  her  pocket,  and  began  to 
read : “ 'She  is  a sprightly  brunette  (you  have  always  pro- 
fessed not  to  like  brunettes),  a heartless  flirt,  a girl  who 
does  not  hesitate  to  break  up  a home  when  prompted  by 
her  love  of  admiration,  a girl  whose  vanity  can  not  be 
satisfied  with  the  homage  of  less  than  a dozen  men  at  a 
time.  She  wins  hearts  just  for  the  pleasure  of  breaking 
them.’  And  this,  George  Dillingham,  is  the  sort  of  girl 
whom  you  prefer  to  your  own  wife !” 

Mrs.  Dillingham  was  so  overcome  by  her  emotions  that 
she  could  no  longer  remain  in  the  presence  of  her  hus- 
band. She  rushed  from  the  room  and  flung  herself  into 
the  arms  of  her  mother,  who  was  seated  as  close  as  pos- 
sible to  the  keyhole. 

That  very  night  Mrs.  Dillingham  left  her  husband’s 
house  and  took  rooms  near  her  mother,  and  Mr.  Dilling- 
ham was  left  to  nurse  his  grief  and  rage  in  solitude.  He 
no  longer  cared  how  soon  his  Anna  died.  He  even  went 


184 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


so  far  as  to  say  that  the  sooner  she  died  the  better  pleased 
he  should  be  ; but  that  was  when  he  was  very  angry.  He 
allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  with  Esther  almost  con- 
tinually, and  at  last  he  decided  that,  with  her,  he  could 
find  balm  for  all  his  woes.  She  would  give  him  love,  sym- 
pathy, peace.  She  would  understand  him  as  no  one  else 
had  ever  done,  and,  best  of  all,  she  had  no  relatives,  ex- 
cept the  old  uncle  whom  he  would  very  soon  place  behind 
iron  bars.  He  did  not  believe  one  word  about  her  being 
a flirt.  He  was  willing  to  believe  that  she  was  a brunette 
and  fascinating,  but  not  that  she  won  hearts  only  to  break 
them.  How  could  he  believe  that  after  reading  her  let- 
ters? Did  he  not  know  that  she  was  much  more  deeply 
in  love  with  him  than  he  was  with  her?  Had  she  not  been 
the  first  to  make  advances?  And  she  had  made  the  ad- 
vances, not  because  she  was  a flirt,  but  because  she  was 
a dear  unsophisticated  young  girl,  who  had  given  her 
loving  heart  into  his  keeping.  Mr.  Dillingham  begged 
leave  to  flatter  himself  that  he  knew  enough  about  human 
nature — more  especially  girl  nature — to  be  able  to  tell 
that. 

Mr.  Dillingham  told  his  partner  that  he  needed  a vaca- 
tion, and  thought  of  taking  one.  The  partner  replied  that 
he  had  not  been  acting  like  himself  of  late,  and  that  he 
thought  it  would  be  a good  thing.  Mr.  Dillingham  then 
dismissed  all  of  his  servants  but  the  housekeeper,  whom 
he  placed  in  charge  of  the  house  for  an  indefinite  time. 
He  told  her  that  he  needed  a vacation,  and  should  not 
return  until  he  felt  better.  He  sent  word  to  his  wife  that 
she  could  go  ahead  with  her  suit  for  divorce ; that  he  did 
not  intend  to  contest  it.  He  bought  a ticket  for  India, 
and  in  thirty-six  hours  from  the  time  his  wife  left  him, 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


185 


he  had  completed  his  arrangements  for  the  voyage.  He 
expected  to  start  the  next  day,  and  decided  to  spend  his 
last  evening  in  his  library,  writing  to  Esther.  He  must 
prepare  her  for  a long  visit,  and  get  a few  directions  from 
her  which  would  enable  him  to  find  her  without  the  loss 
of  one  precious  moment.  He  was  nervously  trying  to 
busy  himself  during  the  hour  which  must  elapse  before  he 
could  hope  to  receive  a communication  from  her,  when 
he  was  disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  the  housekeeper,  with 
a note.  It  was  from  his  mother-in-law,  and  bade  him 
come  at  once,  for  Anna  was  dying,  and  wanted  him. 

Once  more  Esther  was  forgotten.  He  hastened  to  the 
bedside  of  his  Anna,  although  he  could  not  hope  to  get 
back  in  time  to  receive  a communication  from  Esther. 

Anna  had  attempted  to  end  her  life  by  taking  an  over- 
dose of  arsenic,  and  when  Mr.  Dillingham  arrived  he 
found  the  family  physician  relieving  her  of  the  poison  by 
the  energetic  and  unromantic  measures  usually  employed 
in  such  cases.  After  an  hour  of  dreadful  suspense,  he 
told  the  frightened  family  that  Anna  was  out  of  danger. 
He  then  took  his  leave,  after  promising  to  call  again  on 
the  next  day. 

“Now,”  said  Fred,  somewhat  severely,  “I  want  to  know 
what  this  is  all  about.  Why  did  Anna  take  poison?  Why 
is  she  not  at  her  own  home?” 

“Did  you  not  know,”  replied  his  mother,  “that  that 
wretch,”  pointing  to  the  unhappy  Mr.  Dillingham,  “that 
flint-hearted,  base,  deceiving  wretch  has  been  correspond- 
ing with  another  woman?” 

Fred's  boyish  face  showed  a great  deal  of  intense,  but 
badly  mixed,  feeling  when  he  heard  the  news.  It  was 
quite  evident  that  it  affected  him  strangely. 


186 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


“Who  is  she?”  he  asked,  excitedly. 

“Her  name  is  Esther  Mayo.  She  is  a brunette  of 
nineteen,  a vain,  heartless,  fascinating  flirt,  who  does  not 
hesitate  to  break  up  the  happiest  family.” 

“How  do  you  know  all  this,  mother?”  Fred  looked 
almost  indignant,  and  his  mother  mistrusted,  at  once,  that 
he,  too,  knew  Esther  Mayo.  Mr.  Dillingham  was  watch- 
ing Fred  closely,  and  his  former  suspicions  were  now 
confirmed.  Anna  was  out  of  danger,  and  he  felt  almost 
sorry  that  he  had  lost  the  opportunity  of  corresponding 
with  Esther  that  night. 

“How  do  I know?”  repeated  the  mother,  “look  at  this 
letter,  and  see  for  yourself.” 

Fred  read  the  letter,  and  the  puzzled  expression  on  his 
face  intensified. 

“Where  did  it  come  from?”  he  asked. 

“From  Signor  Fontanelli.  At  my  request  Anna  sent 
him  a specimen  of  Esther’s  handwriting.” 

“But,  mother,  I thought  you  had  no  faith  in  people  of 
that  sort.” 

“In  desperate  cases  one  must  use  desperate  measures,” 
replied  Mrs.  Maybury  somewhat  ambiguously,  “and  even 
I am  obliged  to  admit  that  Signor  Fontanelli  is  quite  re- 
markable.” 

“I  don’t  see  why.  You  don’t  know  that  he  has  told  a 
word  of  truth  about  this  young  lady.” 

“Reason  tells  me,  and  ought  to  tell  you,  that  he  has 
spoken  the  truth.  Fred,  is  it  possible  that  you,  too,  have 
become  interested  in  that  unprincipled  female?” 

“I  am  afraid  it  is  possible,”  replied  Fred  with  a crimson 
face.  “Not  only  possible  but  more  than  probable.”  In- 
stantly, three  pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed  eagerly  on  his. 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


187 


"Is  it  true?”  asked  Anna,  pointing  to  the  letter  which 

he  still  held. 

"This  letter?  Not  one  word  of  it,  my  dear  sister/' 

Mr.  Dillingham  breathed  a sigh  of  relief.  He  was  glad 
to  know  that  Esther  was  not  a heartless  flirt. 

"Yet  she  writes  love  letters  to  a married  man,  at  the 
same  time  that  she  is  receiving  the  attentions  of  a young 
man,”  said  Mrs.  Maybury.  "You  are  infatuated*  Fred, 
and  therefore  your  judgment  in  this  matter  is  entirely 
worthless.” 

"Anna,”  said  Fred,  earnestly,  "I  am  awfully  sorry  this 
thing  has  gone  so  far.  Had  I not  supposed  that  you  and 
George  had  the  greatest  confidence  in  each  other,  I 
should  never  have  done  it.” 

"Done  what?”  demanded  Mr.  Dillingham.  A horrible 
fear  was  tugging  at  his  heart. 

"Never  tried  to  get  a mental  influence  over  you,”  re- 
plied Fred,  boldly.  Then  he  turned  again  to  his  sister. 
"Anna,”  he  said,  "I  presume  you  will  find  it  difficult  to 
believe — I mean  what  I am  about  to  say — but  you  know 
I have  never  deceived  you.” 

"I  trust  you,  Fred,  my  dear,  dear  brother,”  replied 
Anna,  with  touching  tearfulness. 

"Well,  then,  try  to  believe  that  it  is  possible  for  one 
person  to  influence  another  to  write  his  thoughts.  I had 
been  a member  of  the  Society  of  Automatic  Writers  for 
more  than  two  years  before  George  joined — ” 

"You  a member — ” stammered  Mr.  Dillingham. 

"Yes,  my  dear  boy,”  replied  Fred.  "When  you  joined, 
I kept  out  to  watch  developments.” 

"Do  you  mean,”  asked  Anna,  "that  George  did  actually 
write  those  letters  himself?” 


188 


MR.  DILLINGHAM’S  CORRESPONDENT. 


“I  do.” 

“He  told  me  so,  but  I could  not  believe  it.” 

“And  Esther  Mayo  prompted  them?”  asked  Mrs.  May- 
bury,  who  feared  that  her  son-in-law  was  about  to  get  off 
too  easily. 

“Esther  Mayo  prompted  them,”  replied  Fred. 

“And  you  know  Esther  Mayo,”  asked  Anna. 

“I  ought  to,”  replied  Fred,  “for  I am  Esther  Maya. 
If  you  had  not  been  blind  and  stupid,  you  would  have 
seen  that  the  writing  is  almost  exactly  like  mine.” 

“Fred,”  gasped  Mr.  Dillingham,  “were  you  able  to  get 
my  thoughts?” 

“No,  I couldn’t  get  a word,  although  I tried  again  and 
again.” 

“Thank  God !”  breathed  Mr.  Dillingham,  but  no  one 
heard  him. 

The  excitement  wras  too  great  for  Anna,  and  she  fainted. 
Mrs.  Maybury  sent  every  one  from  the  room,  saying  that 
her  dear  child  must  not  be  disturbed  again  that  night. 
Mr.  Dillingham  concluded  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
night  at  his  own  home.  He  had  a great  deal  of  thinking 
to  do,  and  wanted  to  be  at  home,  where  he  would  be  un- 
disturbed. Fred  insisted  on  accompanying  him. 

“I  know  a man,”  said  Fred,  “who  is  about  to  start  for 
India.  I think  you  can  sell  him  your  ticket.  There  is  no 
need  of  Anna  knowing  anything  about  that,  you  know.” 

“No,”  replied  Mr.  Dillingham,  meekly.  Then,  after  a 
moment’s  silence,  “Fred,  I wish  you  would  sell  this  con- 
founded ticket  for  me.” 


Sir  Jefferson  Nobody 

Is  the  title  of  Effie  W.  Merriman’s  new  book  for  boys. 
Like  “The  Street  Arab  Series’"’  it  teaches  that  boys  may 
be  gentlemen  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  term,  even  if  not 
born  wealthy.  The  hero  of  this  story,  Jeff,  or  Sir 
Jefferson  Nobody,  as  he  called  himself,  had  no  recollec- 
tion of  his  parents,  or  of  a time  when  he  was  not  obliged 
to  look  out  for  himself.  A street  boy,  making  the  best  of 
life  as  he  found  it,  he  was  merry,  cheerful,  loving  and 
lovable,  and  no  boy  can  read  this  story  of  his  life  without 
gaining  the  useful  lesson  taught  between  the  lines,  but 
never  put  into  words.  Sir  Jefferson  Nobody  is,  without 
doubt,  the  best  and  strongest  character  to  be  found  in  this 
author’s  juvenile  stories.  Tie  is  decidedly  original,  and 
will  not  easily  be  forgotten. 

Mrs.  Merriman  is  an  idealist,  of  whom  one  critic  has 
said,  “Her  stories  are  like  giving  a child  a certificate  of 
good  character  and  expecting  him  to  live  up  to  it.”  It 
is  a characteristic  that  appeals  to  mothers,  especially  now 
when  they  are  beginning  to  see  that,  to  describe  the  fault 
and  then  warn  the  child  against  it,  is  not  so  wise  as  to 
make  him  forget  the  bad  in  contemplating  the  good. — Pp. 
275;  cloth;  price  $1.25.  Published  by  A.  C.  McClurg 
& Co.,  Chicago,  111.  For  sale  by  The  Franklin  Taylor 
Pub.  Co.,  Box  376,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


The  Street  Arab  Series 


comprises  three  books  for  boys,  entitled  respectively, 
“Pards,”  “A  Queer  Family,”  and  ‘The  Little  Millers.1 ” 
The  first  book,  “Pards,”  was  written  at  a time  when  the 
“Little  Lord  Fauntleroy”  style  of  boy  was  most  popular, 
and  its  purpose  was  to  show  that  the  little  street  boy 
possessed  quite  as  many  attractive  and  desirable  qualities 
as  those  more  fortunately  placed  by  birth.  This  book,  the 
author’s  first,  was  accepted  by  the  first  publisher  to  whom 
it  was  submitted,  and  two  more  were  asked  for  to  com- 
plete the  set.  Then  followed  “A  Queer  Family”  and 
“The  Little  Millers”  in  the  order  named. 

These  books  have  won  a place  for  themselves  in  the 
heart  of  every  child  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  them.  The 
entire  set  can  be  had,  neatly  boxed,  for  three  dollars,  or 
the  volumes  may  be  bought,  separately,  at  one  dollar 
each. — Cloth  ; illustrated.  Published  by  Lee  & Shepard, 
Boston,  Mass.  For  sale  by  Franklin  Taylor  Pub.  Co., 
Box  376,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


MOLLIE  FILLER 

—AND— 

t pe  ©onw/iys. 


While  these  two  books  are  really  intended  for  girls, 
they  will  be  found  equally  interesting  to  boys,  for  boys 
take  quite  a prominent  part  in  their  pages.  “Mollie 
Miller”  was  written  by  request  of  many  readers  who  had 
not  become  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  little  heroine 
in  ‘The  Little  Millers,”  of  which  this  book  is  a sequel. 

“The  Conways”  tells  of  a band  of  merry  cousins,  whose 
mischief  brightens  the  book  from  the  first  cover  to  the 
last. 

The  young  people  in  both  these  books  are  full  of  life 
and  mischief,  not  at  all  “goody-goody,”  but  full  of  good 
impulses.  They  are  just  the  sort  of  young  people  a 
mother  would  be  willing  to  have  her  children  know. 

The  books  are  nicely  illustrated,  and  well  bound  in 
cloth.  They  may  be  had  for  $1.25  each.  Published  by 
Lee  & Shepard,  Boston,  Mass.  For  sale  by  The  Franklin 
Taylor  Pub.  Co.,  Box  376,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


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